


His Guardian

by Moondreamer



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Complete, M/M, Mrasayf, king!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moondreamer/pseuds/Moondreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altair is heir to the kingdom of Masyaf. The day he turns fifteen, he receives Malik as his Guardian, to protect his life even at the price of Malik's own. From youth to man, prince to king, from surviving assassination attempts to fighting their growing attraction, Altair and Malik's story unfolds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mrasayf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mrasayf).



> Thank you to Mrasayf for her awesome art (seriously, check her out on tumblr some time). Her AtlMal King AU is what inspired me into writing this fanfic. This first chapter has this drawing as inspiration : http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/94906418173/more-king-guardian-au-3

His life could be much worse, Malik surmised as he strapped his falchion to his side. He gave his uniform and weapons a last inspection and nodded, satisfied. Everything was as it should be, from the soft leather boots he wore to the large belt with the stylized royal symbol emblazoning it, to the cowl half-hiding his features. Around his right bicep, he wore a golden torque. Around his left, a band of black ink tattooed into his skin. The marking of a slave. His weapons, he knew, were in perfect working order. Not even the strictest of the masters could dispute the fact that he was ready.

His eyes crossed his reflection in the still water of the basin he’d used to wash himself earlier. How he had changed since he first arrived here, as a scared child of barely eight. He had been lucky, really. The slavers who had abducted him from his clan had discovered in him an innate talent for fighting—and killing without mercy, even at his young age—and had led him straight to the fortress. Then, the Guardians’ masters had taken him in. They had spent the next twelve years training Malik to become the warrior and the man he now was.

His younger brother, Kadar, hadn’t fared as well. Already sickly when the slavers had attacked their camp, he hadn’t survived the harrowing journey across the desert. His death still pained Malik when he thought about it, but although he still sometimes dreamed of vengeance against the slavers, he realized it was nothing but idle fantasies at this point. He had to leave the past in the past, for his own sanity.

Truly, as a Guardian now, Malik had everything a man could ever desire. Food, drinks, clothes of the richest fabrics and weapons of the finest craftsmanship, and women and men as his preference dictated. The only thing he didn’t possess—would never possess again—was his freedom. And as of today, his life was forever tied to that of Masyaf’s royal family. If his charged died for any reason, his own life would be forfeit as well.

Altair, the young prince and heir to the kingdom turned fifteen tomorrow. It was the age at which, just like his father before him, a Guardian would be assigned to protect him for the rest of his life. When the news had reached Malik’s ears that he had been chosen to guard the boy, he hadn’t been certain what to feel. Pride, certainly. Pride that his skills were considered good enough to guard the kingdom’s sole heir. But also resentment. Here Malik was, asked to put his life on the line for a boy not even of age yet. A boy who had probably never lived through a single day of hardship in his life. He’d had no choice, though. This wasn’t an assignment anyone could refuse. And at the end of the day, Malik was a slave. His life hadn’t been his own for a very long time.

“Malik, it’s time to leave now,” one of the masters called to him from the other side of the door. His impatience was plain in his voice.

Malik gave the room he’d inhabited for the last twelve years one last look. He doubted he would ever return to it, or the Guardian’s fortress, again. This part of his life was over. Time to see what the future would bring.

 

*****

 

The prince truly was only a boy, Malik thought when he first set eyes on Altair’s face. At fifteen, Altair still hovered between petulant child and arrogant youth. Thin features, inquisitive eyes, and short brown hair didn’t quite manage to hide the plumpness of the kid he’d been not too long ago.

Right now, those eyes fixed Malik with open curiosity. “You are Malik Al’Sayf, right?”

Altair sat crossed-legged on a floor cushion, flanked by two of the palace guards and one of his father’s advisors, and looked up at Malik standing in front of him. Today, he wore what could be considered casual clothing here in the palace, black linen breeches and a simple white belted kamiz. Malik couldn’t help but notice that a dagger hung at his side, and he wondered if the boy knew how to use it.

“Yes, sire,” he replied blandly. The prince had to know this already.

“The masters say you were their best student.”

“Yes, sire,” Malik repeated, hiding the pride he took in those words.

After a short moment of silence, Altair got to his feet and went to stand in front of Malik. He was a somewhat shorter than Malik—and quite a bit lankier—but Malik expected they would be almost the same height by the time he finished growing up.

Altair cleared his throat before he spoke, as if trying to brush away his nervousness. “Malik Al’Sayf,” he said formally. “Kneel.”

Despite cracking on that last word, Altair’s voice held a hint of steel. His tone offered a glance to the man he might one day become. Malik knelt in front of his prince before his brain could completely catch up with his actions. His heart pounded in his chest, and his palm felt moist when he grabbed the pommel of his sword.

“In the name of my father, King Umar,” Altair continued, “Do you swear your life to me and to the throne of Masyaf? To protect and serve me even unto death?”

Malik’s throat was dry as sandpaper when he answered, “I swear, sire,” and unsheathed his blade to present it to Altair.

“Very well.” Altair sounded very young once again, and his hand was shaking slightly when he took the sword from Malik’s hands. But he didn’t hesitate to do what came next. In one swift move, he slid the blade across his palm, drawing blood. He then returned the blade, now adorned with crimson, to Malik.

Malik didn’t hesitate either. He drew the blade across his own palm, adding his blood to Altair’s. Sealing his fate. “I am now yours to command, sire.”

Altair turned to look at his father’s advisor. “Did I do all right?”

The advisor nodded without a word, his expression never changing.

 

*****

 

Altair’s sigh reminded Malik of a petulant child being denied dessert. “I’m sorry, sire, but it is too dangerous,” he repeated for the third time that day.

“You really are no fun, Malik,” Altair snapped, and scowled at him. “First you deny my request to teach me to use your hidden blade, and now you’d refuse to let me leave the palace?”

Not just a petulant child, Malik decided then and there. A brat. An arrogant, pigheaded brat. “We’ve gone over this already, sire. You are a prince. I am your Guardian. Leave the blood-letting to me. A prince doesn’t need to know how to kill a man.”

Altair rolled his eyes at him. In the last three years, the prince of Masyaf had grown taller, and although still lean, he wasn’t quite as scrawny anymore. Unfortunately, he still acted like a spoiled youngster more often than not. Malik tried to keep him out of trouble, but it sometimes tried his patience.

“True enough,” Altair said in a way that made Malik think trouble was once again coming his way. “I am a prince, and you are my Guardian. As my Guardian, you are mine to command. Right now, I am commanding you to escort me to the Black Hoof tonight.”

Malik ground his teeth together, but managed to keep his calm, barely, as he said, “That tavern is situated in a dangerous part of town, sire. I simply can’t let you go there alone.”

“But I won’t be alone, will I? You’ll be right there beside me, Malik. You’re always beside me.”

It was Malik’s turn to sigh. He knew he had lost. If his prince ordered it, there was nothing he could do but obey him. “I still object. This part of town is dangerous at night.”

“Your objection has been duly noted,” Altair replied, then grinned. “Now, get us some civilian clothes, will you?” With a flick of his hand, he shooed Malik away.

Cursing inwardly, Malik left. None of the masters had ever covered what to do in a case like this. For a moment, he thought of consulting with Yusuf, the older Guardian in charge of King Umar's security, but he quickly rejected the idea. If Altair was set on going into town tonight, Malik would simply make sure he returned safely to the palace before dawn.

Later that same day, Malik walked back into the prince’s chambers carrying two set of dark, nondescript, clothing. Altair was already waiting impatiently inside, and closed the door behind Malik as soon as he stepped through the threshold.

“Do you have them?”

“Yes, sire. But I would ask you to reconsider your decision. At least wait until I can organize an escort for you.”

“No.” Altair’s mouth set into a stubborn line Malik was coming to know all too well. “You are the one always telling me I should get to know my subjects. Well, that is what I’m doing now.”

Malik wasn’t buying it, but at this point there wasn’t much else he could do. In the end, short of tying Altair to his bed—and wasn’t _that_ an idea—he couldn’t prevent him from putting his plan into action. He dropped both set of clothes on the closest chair and Altair grabbed the one on the top with greedy hands. “Perfect,” he said as he took in brown and black garments, and the dark cowl that would hide his features. “No one will recognize me like that. You’ve done a good job, Malik.”

Malik’s only answer was to grunt, but that didn’t put a damper on Altair’s enthusiasm at this little bit of rebellion. Without a moment of hesitation, he started stripping right in front of Malik, first getting rid of his belt, then his kamiz, and finally his pants. Malik’s breath caught in his throat and he gulped. Never before had his prince stripped in his presence, and what he saw—

He shut his eyes when he realized he was staring at the expanse of Altair’s back and his perfectly shaped butt. _No._ Thinking of his prince in this way would lead to madness. He was a boy. A kid. Barely out of childhood.

And you aren’t that much older yourself, a small, torturous voice reminded him. Only five years older, really, but Malik hadn’t been a child in a very long time.

“Hey, Malik. I doubt guarding me with your eyes closed works all that well,” Altair’s mocking voice broke through Malik’s thoughts.

When he reopened his eyes, carefully, Altair was once again dressed. Thanks Allah. He wore the clothes Malik had chosen for him, and was still fiddling with the fit of his cowl.

“Your turn,” Altair said and nodded to the second pile of clothing.

There was no way Malik was changing in front of Altair. Not when he feared he might have the start of an erection. From watching the boy change. _Fuck._ He grabbed the remainder of the clothes and stalked toward the door leading to Altair’s bathing room.

“Where are you going?” Altair called after him.

“Changing.”

When he returned several minutes later, Malik had regained his composure. He adjusted the fit of his new clothes, not liking the fact they missed the cleverly hidden metal plates of his usual uniform, or the fact he had to leave part of his weapons behind as he didn’t want to attract attention on Altair and himself while in town. A Guardian’s attire and weapons were simply too recognizable in Masyaf; he couldn’t hope to stay anonymous wearing them. He wrapped the black cowl around his head and lowered it to partly hide his face. He then touched his left wrist, making sure his hidden blade was still securely strapped to his forearm and in good working order.

Satisfied with his inspection, he looked at Altair. The boy was practically jumping in excitement, and his grin had something contagious to it. Malik felt his own lips start curling in answer, and he forced his muscles to return to a more neutral expression.

“Let’s go,” Altair said, impatient.

Malik hoped against all odd that they would be found out before Altair led them out of the palace, but the boy had planned his escape well. They traveled through little-used servants’ corridors until they reached the vegetable garden situated at the back of the palace’s barracks. The moon illuminated them for a moment, but Altair was quick to lead them both into the shadows hiding a old door leading outside the walls.

Darkness and shadows had never bothered Malik, as his night vision was perfect, but Altair fumbled a moment as he searched through his pockets. Then he took something out with a grin of triumph. He held the little key up and said, “Got it. It took me almost two weeks of research before I found it.”

Altair went to work on the lock. For a minute, it looked like the lock was rusted shut and wouldn’t budge, and Malik started to relax. “Sire, it doesn’t look like the key works. Let’s—”

“No. I’m almost there,” Altair interrupted him. The key finally turned in the lock, and Altair pulled the door open. “Victory,” he murmured, and slipped outside.

Gritting his teeth, Malik had no choice but to follow as Altair made his way into town. Idly, he wondered where Altair had heard of the Black Hoof, and how he had learned to navigate the city’s narrow streets. As a prince, Altair spent his days inside the palace, studying with his numerous tutors, or assisting with yet another state ceremony. Malik could only conclude that the boy had gotten his hands on a map of the city at some point. He scowled at Altair’s back. How had he done so without Malik’s knowledge?

You have been unobservant, he admonished himself. It couldn’t happen again. Part of Malik, however, felt some pride in the fact Altair had managed to play him. It had taken more than a little cunning on the boy’s part to have managed to circumvent Malik’s vigilance. if only Altair used his planning skill on something other than mischief…

They reached the Black Hoof without encountering any sign of trouble. Malik chose a table in a corner of the cavernous room, and indicated Altair should sit with his back to the wall. Malik sat to Altair’s right. Although he didn’t have as good a view of the tavern as he’d like, he much prefered for Altair to sit where he could best protect him. 

Altair looked around the room, seemingly fascinated by the crowd. That same crowd only made Malik tense. So many threat could be hiding amongst them.

“So, what does one drink in a tavern such as this one?” Altair broke the silence to ask him.

“Beer, sire.”

Altair frowned. “Don’t call me that, Malik. We’re undercover, remember?”

“What should I call you then, sire?”

Altair made a face. “Altair. Just call me Altair.”

“I…” Malik hesitated, then shook his head. “I cannot do that.”

Altair rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and sighed deeply. “Then… just avoid calling me sire, all right?”

“Yes, si—Yes.” 

“Good.” 

When Altair raised his hand to summon one of the serving wenches to their table, a flash of gold caught Malik’s attention. He grabbed Altair’s wrist as soon as his hand was down again, surprising the boy into gasping. “Malik, what are you doing?” Altair said, sounding irritated.

“You didn’t take off your seal.” Malik scowled at the thick gold band encircling Altair’s right ring finger. 

Altair shrugged and yanked his hand out of Malik’s grip. “It’s just a ring, Malik.”

“I don’t like it. Someone could recognize it.”

“In here? Doubtful. Most of those people probably don’t even know how to read.”

Their argument was interrupted by the serving wench’s arrival. Altair ordered beer for both of them. After she left again, Altair raised a hand to stop Malik before he could say any more. “No more, Malik. I am here to unwind, not to listen to your grousing.”

Malik’s jaw muscles tensed and he swallowed his reply. Damn brat, he thought again.

The next hour was spent mostly in silence as Altair drank his beer, then ordered a second one, all the while watching the people around him with great interest. Malik nursed his own beer, drinking from it infrequently, and then only when someone started paying too much attention to the fact he hadn’t in a while.

“Do you know why I came here tonight?” Altair said suddenly. 

Malik’s attention turned away from the crowd and back to his prince. “No.”

“I refuse to become like Father. All my life, I’ve seen him hiding inside his own palace, behind his guards and his Guardian. I will never live in fear of my own people the way Father does. You understand, right Malik?”

“I… see.” So this was reason behind tonight’s expedition. “If this is your goal, there are less dangerous ways to meet with your subjects.”

“But none that allow me to observe them without being discovered,” Altair replied. “How else can I get to learn about their needs? No one ever tells me anything. It’s like living in a bubble.”

Malik fell silent again, and watched as Altair finished his beer and ordered a third one. He frowned, wondering if he should tell the boy to slow down. Considering that he drank alcohol so seldomly, this was getting to be a lot for him. In the end, though, he kept his peace. Altair would learn about the after-effects of alcohol on his own. A hangover had never killed anyone after all.

“Hey, Malik,” Altair said, in the middle of drinking his third beer.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve always wondered…” Altair pointed to Malik’s slave tattoo. “Did it hurt?” 

Malik shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t?”

“I was very young, and in shock after being captured by the slavers,” Malik said matter-of-factly. “So I don’t really remember it.”

“Oh.” Altair looked down at his beer, suddenly looking like he might cry. After a moment, he pushed it away from him. “I think I want to go home now.”

“As you wish.”

Altair gained his feet, looking none too steady. He and Malik exited into the cool night air. Malik grimaced when the stench of stale urine and vomit reached his nostrils. Someone had been sick nearby. _Fantastic._

“Let’s go,” he said shortly.

Malik led them away from the Black Hoof, keeping his senses alert for danger. His shoulderblades itched, but he couldn't sense anything. He forced himself to relax somewhat and keep pace with Altair.

Silence between them didn't last. ”Say, Malik, why do you hate me?” Altair asked out of the blue, his speech slightly slurred.

Malik perked an eyebrow, but said nothing. 

“When you look at me, your expression is always so… disapproving. Why do you hate me?” Altair continued, undaunted.

“I do not hate you, sire.”

Altair pursed his lips, as though he didn’t really believe Malik’s words. Then, his expression turned green. “I think I will be sick.” 

“You drank too much bad alcohol.” It was only to be expected, he thought with an internal sigh.

“Urgh. You might be right.”

“Lean on me, sire. Let’s get you back to the palace.”

Altair’s weight settled on his right side, warm even through Malik’s shirt. He wrapped an arm around his prince’s waist to prevent him from falling. Altair snuggled closer with a contented sigh. Malik opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. Instead, he simply said, “You’re drunk.”

“Yes,” Altair readily agreed.

Altair stopped walking, forcing Malik to also pause. “Sire—” he started saying, but Altair chose this moment to turn in his arms and face him. They stood with their nose less than an inch apart.

Altair smiled and reached to touch Malik’s stubbled cheek, his eyes slightly unfocused. “You know Malik, I always wondered—”

Malik never knew what Altair wondered, for at that moment he caught movement from the corner of his eye. His instincts took over. “Sire, down!” he barked, shoving Altair to the ground. 

He raised his left arm and released the hidden blade just in time to parry the aggressor's sword. It connected with his forearm with a mighty clang and sent a shock wave all the way to his shoulder. He shove his opponent’s blade away from him and kicked him in the ribs, sending him careening backward. In the same fluid movement, he advanced on the man and grabbed his shoulder, only to thrust the hidden blade between his collarbone and spine, severing the carotid artery. The man died in a quiet gurgle of blood.

Malik scanned the alley and spotted four more assaillants. They were dressed as simple footpads, but he couldn’t be certain if they truly were, or if their attack was an assassination attempt against the prince. In the end, though, it didn’t matter. Swift as a desert sandcat—and just as deadly—Malik pounced on the closest man and downed him before he could react. He dispatched a third man with the same deadly efficiency, and fear made the other two hesitate.

“Who sent you?” Malik snarled at them.

The men looked at each other, then scrambled away toward the mouth of the alley. Malik followed at a run, bent on getting an answer from them one way or the other. He’d not gone far when Altair’s scream pierced the night. Malik stopped dead in his tracks, his blood freezing at the sound.

He whipped around in time to see Altair grappling with a man in black. The man had grabbed Altair’s right hand and was trying to get to Altair’s seal off. The silver of a dagger flashed. Malik started running, but he already knew he wouldn’t get there in time before the man hacked away at his prince’s finger.

In a show of skill Malik didn’t know Altair possessed—unless it was simply the adrenaline of the fight—the boy kicked his assailant in the knee and the man buckled down with a cry of pain. Altair grabbed for the man’s knife and a fight ensued.

Before Malik could reach the prince, the would-be-thief kick him away from him and scrambled to his feet. He gave Malik one look, and possibly deciding he was no match for the Guardian, he flew toward the other end of the alley. For a moment, Malik thought of pursuing him, but a groan coming from Altair’s prone form stilled his feet. He returned to the prince’s side after giving the now empty alley a disgusted look.

“Sire, are you all right?”

Slowly, Altair sat up. His mouth was bleeding on one side from a deep cut that bisected his lips, and he held his bloodied right hand across his chest. “I… I’m fine, Malik.”

Malik knelt in front of him and grabbed his hand so he could take a better look at the wound. To his relief, Altair’s ring finger was still there, although the ring had left gashes in the skin from the thief trying to pry it off. Malik sighed. “Let’s get you back to the palace, sire.”

Altair nodded without a word.

 

*****

 

Altair let the healer examine his lip, only wincing when the old man applied one of his healing salves on it. The cut had stopped bleeding at some point before him and Malik reached the palace, but it still stung.

“I did my best, but I’m afraid it will leave a scar, sire,” the healer announced as he stepped back.

Altair waived the healer’s concern away. “That isn’t a problem.” His head pounded—too much alcohol probably, unless it was from his head hitting the ground when Malik had pushed him down. He wanted to be left alone. “Are you done now?” he asked the old man.

The healer inclined his head. “I am done, sire.”

“Good. Then you can go.”

The old man bowed and left the prince’s chambers on quiet feet. Altair sighed deeply and dropped back on his bed. Sleep. He wanted to sleep, and maybe forget the way he’d been jumped by that footpad and could barely defend himself. Without Malik there, he’d be dead by now. The pain radiating from his right hand reminded him he’d almost lost a finger in the attack.

“Never again,” he muttered. He’d been stupid to think a gold ring wouldn’t attract attention. He should have listened to Malik for once.

Speaking of Malik, he’d not seen the Guardian since their return to the palace. Altair had wanted to use the garden door again and keep their expedition hidden from the king, but Malik had refused. A glare had been enough to kill Altair’s objections before he could voice them, and before long Malik was carrying him past the front gate. After that, pandemonium reigned until Altair reached his chambers, escorted by several palace guards. Malik hadn’t reappeared at his side since then, which was unusual. Malik was always there, unless Altair was sleeping.

In spite of his headache, Altair got back to his feet and padded to his chambers’ door. He cracked it open and glanced into the hall. As usual, guards lined the walls at interval, but apart from them, the corridor was empty. Altair slipped out and closed the door behind him. None of the guards reacted to his presence; they were used to seeing him roam the palace at all hour. He thought of asking one of them if they’d seen Malik, but thought better of the idea. He didn’t like anyone knowing that Malik’s sudden absence bothered him.

Malik’s own room was situated just beside Altair’s, although the Guardian rarely used it for anything but sleep. Perhaps that’s where he was. Altair had only taken a few steps forward when some instinct made him stop. Someone was coming from the other side of the hall, shuffling gait sounding slow and somewhat unsteady. A moment later, the flickering light on the wall sconces illuminated Malik’s form, and Altair gaped in shock. Malik walked bent almost in half, as though a great weight had settled on his shoulders, and held himself up using the wall. His clothes hung strangely on his back.

“Malik,” Altair called out, but his words dried out in his mouth when Malik raised his head to look at him.

Glared at him, really. Malik’s eyes held a world of... resentment. And pain. What in Allah’s name had happened to him?

Without uttering a single word, Malik shuffled all the way to his door, pushed it open and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Altair standing utterly still in the middle of the corridor.

Once silence returned, Altair shook himself out of his daze and approached Malik’s door.

“Leave him be,” a man’s voice ordered just as he was about to knock.

Altair recognized the voice, and the slightly bent shape of the man. Rashid Ad-Din Sinan, also known as Al Mualim or The Mentor, one of his father’s closest advisors. What was the old man doing there at this hour of the night?

“Al Mualim, greetings,” Altair said, remembering his manners.

“Greetings to you, sire. I see the healer has done his work.”

Altair touched his lip, glistening with the herbal salve he healer had applied to it, and shrugged. “He left a bit ago. What’s with Malik? Why is he bent like an old man? He wasn’t hurt in the fight.”

Al Mualim’s expression turned cold. “No, but he failed in his duty to protect you, sire. Such a failure needed to be addressed.”

“Addressed how?” 

“As it should, sire.”

“As it should?” Altair felt his impatience bubbling to the surface at the advisor’s bland tone. “What does that even mean?”

“He was punished with the lash. He has bled for his failure, as he should.”

Altair felt the blood drain away from his face. Malik, lashed. He had never meant for Malik to be punished. “But—” he started.

“Now, please return to your chambers, sire. Your Guardian will be back by your side in the morning. In the mean time, you should try to rest.”

Under Al Mualim unyielding gaze, Altair returned to his rooms, closing the door behind him and leaning against its sturdy frame. He ran a hand through his hair, and cursed. _Shit._ Malik was his Guardian, and his alone. _Mine._ They had no right to punish Malik without his permission. Altair kicked the chair closest to him, sending it careening to the floor. His rage, however, was impotent. It was much too late to change anything.

 

*****

 

The next morning, Altair found himself waiting nervously for Malik’s arrival. At eight on the hour, the door opened and the Guardian stepped inside. Once again, he wore his uniform and the falchion, short sword, and hidden blade that usually never left his side. Any trace of his punishment was gone from his posture. He stood straight once more, his shoulders squared and his expression unreadable.

“Malik—” Altair hesitated, closed his mouth, opened it again, but in the end the apology he’d been preparing all night never left his lips. What would Malik care about his apology. It wouldn’t change the fact he’d been whipped bloody because of Altair’s stupidity. 

The silence stretched, heavy, uncomfortable, until Altair was ready to order Malik to speak. Then, Malik threw something at him and Altair only barely managed to catch the object. “Wha—” Puzzled, he looked down at what he’d caught, and his eyes grew round as he recognized what it was. It was a leather and metal bracer, very similar to Malik’s own, and worn by years of use. Attached to the underside of it was a hidden blade…

“I will show you how to use it,” Malik announced, leaving Altair even more dumbfounded.

“You said you wouldn’t, before.”

Malik’s lips thinned and his eyes glinted dangerously. “Last night, I failed to protect you, sire. I am but a man, and I realize now that I might not always be able to do so.” His expression said that such an occurrence left a foul taste in his mouth. “That is why, from now on, I’ll make sure you can also defend yourself.”

Altair stared at the weapon in his hand. “Where did you get it? I thought only Guardians had such blades.”

“It was my own while I trained at the fortress. Now, put it on.”

Malik’s own blade. Something in that statement warmed Altair to the tip of his toes. “I will cherish it.” 

Malik snorted. “This is only for training. I’ll have a better one made for you. No one needs ever know that you wear it.”

Altair nodded as he inexpertly strapped the bracer on. It felt strange and somewhat constricting, as the stiff blade prevented him from bending his wrist correctly. His forearm was also leaner than Malik’s and the bracer had a tendency to move and turn on his wrist.

“Here, let me,” Malik said and grasped Altair’s arm without waiting for permission. Altair felt his cheeks flame at the touch of Malik’s callused fingers. He had the vague memory of leaning against Malik’s body the night before, much too close for comfort. Fortunately, Malik saw nothing of Altair’s discomfort as he fiddled with the bracer’s buckles and tightened it around Altair’s forearm.

“Better,” he finally said, sounding satisfied, and stepped back.

Altair raised his arm in front of his face and gave the hidden weapon a frown. Now, how did one— He pulled his hand back the way he’d seen Malik do before, and the blade slid free with a silent hiss. Altair recoiled in surprise. The blade had come an iota from slicing through his ring finger.

“Careful, sire, or you might well lose a finger,” Malik said calmly. 

Altair scowled at him. Was it just him, or was Malik making fun of him? “Once has been enough, thank you very much,” he snapped back.

When Malik nodded, Altair could have sworn the Guardian tried to hide a smirk.


	2. Coronation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to Mrasayf, who accepted for me to use her art as inspiration. This time, we have :  
> http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/80476488259/malik-is-a-good-guard  
> http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/79995726350/i-gave-up-on-background-the-guardian

Malik avoided Altair’s thrust and twisted aside, before bringing the edge of his hand across the younger man’s wrist. Altair hissed in pain and retreated.

“Again,” Malik instructed sharply. “Watch my feet, not my hands. Anticipate my moves. You can do better than this, novice.”

Altair cursed at him and shook his numbed hand. A rivulet of sweat had traced a path down his cheek and over the scar bisecting the right side of his lips, and more sweat glistened on his forehead. They had been at this for a while now, and Altair was no doubt tired. Malik didn’t intend to let him rest for a few more minutes, long enough to push him past his limits. Prince or not, since Malik started teaching him, he had treated Altair more like one of the Guardians’ novices than royalty, at least in the training ring.

More than two years had passed since the night of the Black Hoof attack. Malik still bore the scars from the lashing he’d endured for his failure to protect Altair. The man in black had never been found, and Malik still didn’t know if they’d been victims of a simple mugging or if the prince had been targeted specifically.

“Malik, enough,” Altair pleaded. 

“No. Now stop whining and get into position.” At Altair’s glare, he added, “Novice.” In no other circumstances would he dare talk this way to his prince, but their training time was… special.

Altair appeared like he wanted to argue, but he took one good look at Malik’s expression and grimaced. Ultimately, he got back into position in silence, a short sword in one hand, the Guardian’s hidden blade shielding the other. 

Malik glanced at the sun, already high in the sky, and relented somewhat. It was getting late. “If you can manage to breach through my defenses this time, we can call it a day.”

That bit of knowledge spurged Altair on, and he attacked with renewed energy. Malik blocked his first thrust easily enough, but realized at the last moment that it was a feint. He sidestepped to avoid Altair’s next strike, and brought his own blade down across the prince’s forearm. 

Even a few months ago, Altair would have been unable to parry the attack, but the prince was getting better at anticipating Malik’s moves. He’d gained muscles in places where, before, he’d had none, and his coordination and fighting instincts had improved tremendously. Malik felt pride in Altair’s progress, knowing he was the one who had taught him everything.

Never again would his prince be caught defenseless.

Steel clanked against steel as Altair parried Malik’s attack and danced aside. He saw Altair’s eyes flicker to the floor, no doubt watching Malik’s feet, and thought “Good”. He lunged, leading with his falchion, and Altair raised the arm with the hidden blade to parry him, predicting Malik’s move from the position of his feet. But Altair would have to do better. He needed to stay alert at all time and not put too much stock in a first impression. At the last second, Malik shifted his weight from right to left foot and changed his angle of attack. He heard Altair suck in a breath as he barely managed to avoid Malik’s direct hit to his shoulder.

He seemed out of balance as he stumbled back, and Malik took a step closer to finish off what he’d started and disarm Altair. But then Altair dropped down and rolled past Malik, and it was Malik’s turn to be caught by surprise. It lasted only a short moment, but Altair used that opportunity to come up behind Malik’s back, and grabbed his shoulder to pull him backward. Malik recognized the move for what it was: the start of a killing blow from Altair’s hidden blade. He twisted around, almost dislocating his shoulder, just in time to grab Altair’s wrist and stop his strike.

By now, both men were breathing hard and Altair’s arms shook with exhaustion. He froze when Malik caught his arm and there they stood, inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes. Then Malik released him and stepped back. “Better,” he said and resheathed his falchion. “We are done for the day.”

“But I didn’t manage to land a hit,” Altair protested.

Malik snorted at this. “You are barely more than a novice, sire. I wouldn’t be your Guardian if I couldn’t defend myself against you.”

Altair glared at him, but he must have known the truth of Malik’s statement since he sheathed his weapons. “I’m going back to my chambers to change,” he said. Malik heard him mutter as he stomped away, “One day, I will beat you,” and smirked. 

“You can try, sire, but that day will not be any time soon,” he thought as he followed two steps behind.

As soon as Altair reached his private chambers, he started shedding his clothes, hissing in pain when he raised his arms to take his kamiz off. “You’ve beaten me black and blue once again, Malik,” he said, a trace of annoyance in his tone.

Malik stared at a point on the wall, about five feet to Altair’s right. He would not—could not—look at his prince as he stripped in front of him. Altair had done so a thousand time before in the last two years, but it never seemed to get any easier.

“At least this time you managed to avoid bleeding all over your clothes, sire.” 

“You truly are an ass, Malik.”

Malik didn’t reply, keeping his expression completely neutral. With a muttered insult concerning Malik’s parentage, Altair threw his kamiz at him and stalked into the bathing chamber. After taking the time to fold the kamiz and place it on a chair, Malik followed. He went to stand beside the bathing pool, keeping his back to Altair’s naked body. He stared hard at the room’s only door. Since the attack, he hadn’t wanted to leave his prince’s side, fearing another ambush at a time when Malik wasn’t there to protect him. Being in here while Altair bathed, however, felt like torture each and every single time.

Malik heard Altair sigh, then the sound of gentle sloshing as he entered the warm water. “Is it really necessary for you to be in here?”

“Yes.”

The argument was one they rehashed almost once a week, and Malik’s answer never changed.

“Fine,” Altair said in exasperation, before falling silent.

*****

Firelight flickered from the sconces lining the wall of Altair’s private chambers. Night had fallen some time ago, but the palace was far from silent. Malik sat on the floor beside the door leading to the hall, one knee up and his left arm laying casually on top of it, while his prince prepared for the night.

A sudden cry of panic coming from somewhere down the hall alerted Malik that their quiet evening was about to end. 

“What was that?” Altair asked, stopping in the middle of taking his sash off.

Malik was already on his feet, checking that his hidden blade was ready to use. He frowned. “I don’t know. Please, sire, stay inside and bar the door. I will investigate.”

“I don’t like this,” Altair said mulishly. “I don’t want to hide in my room while you put yourself in danger.”

“Sire—”

“I’m coming with you,” Altair decided before Malik could finish his sentence. His mouth had set into that same stubborn line Malik had come to know so well. “No arguing. You’ve said often enough that I am safer with you by my side.”

Malik huffed something between a sigh and a laugh. He had said that often, hadn’t he? “Very well, sire, but stay close to me.”

“Of course.” 

More noise could be heard in the corridor now, sounds of servants running around and guards murmuring questions at each other. No one seemed to know what was going on yet. Malik opened the door and peered out. Things appeared safe enough, in spite of everything. He gestured Altair to follow him outside. The closest of the guards on duty, a captain, noticed them and stood at attention.

“What’s happening, captain?” Altair asked from behind Malik.

“We aren’t sure yet, sire, but I sent Abdul to check.”

As if summoned by his name, Abdul chose that moment to reappear, rushing back toward them, his expression wild. “Captain, captain!” he yelled, but stopped dead in his tracks and gaped when he caught sight of Malik and Altair.

“Abdul,” the captain snapped. “Stop gaping and tell us what happened.”

Abdul shook himself and stared at Altair. He gulped audibly and took a step forward. Malik tensed, ready to draw the hidden blade at any sign of Abdul reaching for his prince, but Abdul surprised him by falling on one knee in front of Altair instead. “You Majesty!”

“What?” Altair stammered.

Abdul licked his lips and tried again. “Your Majesty, your father is dead. Long live the king.” 

Silence followed the news, loud as thunder. Altair stood completely immobile, and Malik wasn’t certain he was even breathing anymore. “Explain,” Malik ordered to the guard.

“No… no one is sure what happened yet. The royal healer is in the king’s chambers right now. His majesty was taking his usual late supper, but then he seized and fell to the ground, unable to breath. By the time the healer was called, he… he was dead.”

“A stroke?” the captain pondered out loud.

“No,” Malik replied, somber. “Poison.” He couldn’t be certain without inspecting the dead man’s last meal, but he expected to find either his drink or food smelling of the sweet almond scent of cyanide. The symptoms fit.

After this pronouncement, the silence that fell could have been cut with a knife. All but Malik were frozen, in shock, until Abdul cleared his throat nervously. “Your majesty, please forgive me, but you are expected in the king’s chambers. Al Mualim is there already.”

Altair appeared to shake himself out of his paralysis with great effort. “All right,” he finally said. He then turned to the captain. “Captain, I would have your name.”

“Rauf, your majesty.”

Altair nodded. “Captain Rauf, make certain no one leaves the palace until I order otherwise. Compile a list of everyone who might have had access to the king—”

“—and his food,” Malik added.

Altair frowned at the interruption, but conceded Malik’s point. “—the king and his food this last day. I’ll be expecting your report in the morning.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Captain Rauf saluted sharply and walked away, his back stiff as a plank. 

Not waiting on Abdul to lead the way, Altair stepped in front of Malik and stalked toward the other end of the hall. Malik hurried after him, his senses buzzing. If the king had been poisoned, what wasn’t to say his prince might not be the killer’s next intended victim? Chances were, he would be.

“Malik, if you walked any closer to me, I’d be tripping all over your feet,” Altair huffed, sounding irritated.

Malik realized he was, indeed, walking very close to Altair, but he wasn’t about to relent in his duty.

“Malik,” Altair repeated, and stopped to glare at him. “Putting a few feet in between us won’t kill you. Or me.”

Malik felt like arguing about it, but he relented when he realized that Altair all but thrummed with tension. Now wasn’t the time to add to his stress, and he _could_ protect him from a few feet away.

Malik knew they’d arrived in the vicinity of the king’s private quarters when he began to hear voices. Whispers and whines and cries, growing louder as they approached. A crowd had gathered around the closed doors, composed of servants, courtiers, and a few soldiers, and rumors flew with the speed of war arrows. 

“Make way,” he growled barely above a whisper, but it was enough for the voices to cease and the crowd to part. Gazes followed him, fearful, as he led Altair through. He gave everyone a thorough look, but no expression mirrored guilt and no one tried to leave, thus making themselves suspicious.

Inside the king’s bedchamber, a young female servant stood in a corner, weeping softly. Several of the royal guards encircled a low lying bed in which a white-clothed figure laid. The king’s Guardian, Yusuf, stood at the bed’s head with his eyes cast to the ground, still as death. To one side, Al Mualim, the healer, and a few other of the king’s advisors whispered between themselves in low voices. They all stopped to look at Altair when he stepped into the room. Al Mualim was the first to recover his composure. “Sire… your majesty.” He bowed stiffly, as his back was riddled with arthritis.

Altair was staring at his father’s prone form, the dead man’s skin already looking grayish in the light of the torches. “Tell me, Al Mualim. What happened?”

“Your father felt faint during his supper. Then, he fell to the ground and seized. We fear a stroke took his life.”

“Hmmm, I see. Were there any witnesses?”

Al Mualim nodded toward the servant girl. “She was the only other person present at the time.”

Malik wandered away from Altair for a moment. He wanted to inspect the king’s last supper. But when he reached the table, he found it empty. No sign of the food and drink the king had been having at the moment of his death. He turned to the closest person, the servant girl, and barked. “Where is the king’s supper?” His scowl could have shrivelled a weaker man’s testicules. The servant girl shrinked in on herself and whimpered in fear.

“They… they took it away.”

“They? Who are they? Who ordered this?”

“I don’t know, sir. Please, do not kill me!”

The girl was terrified, Malik realized. Being the last person to have seen the king alive, she had reason to be. More than anyone else, she had to worry about being accused of killing the ruler of Masyaf.

Malik tried to gentle his expression somewhat. “I will not kill you, girl. But I will have the truth. Tell me who took the king’s supper away.”

Eyes darting back and effort as though in search of an escape, she answered in a very small voice, “When his majesty fell, he… he brought down his plate with him. There was food everywhere.” 

Malik stepped closer, as the girl’s voice was barely loud enough for him to understand her words. “Continue,” he commanded when she stopped speaking.

“I screamed for help. They… People came into the room. Soldiers, the healer, then more people. I don’t know who… someone must have ordered the room be tidied up once they moved his majesty to his bed.” She started weeping again. “I don’t know anything else. Please, sir. I swear I did nothing wrong.”

Malik grunted. “That is left to see. What is your name, girl?”

“M—Maria, sir.”

He left her alone after committing her name and face to memory, and returned to Altair’s side. Altair still talked with Al Mualim and the other advisors, and the discussion had turned to the subject of the old king’s funerals. Malik went to stand two steps behind his prince, and his gaze fell on Yusuf. He felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the older Guardian, knowing the price of failure. But it was a price any Guardian was ready to pay.

*****

It was a long and sleepless night for Altair, a night that passed in a blur of words and decisions that he would have trouble remembering come morning. His father, King Umar, was dead. Poisoned, if Malik’s suspicions proved correct. Part of him still couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt unreal, like a nightmare one would soon wake from.

But it was no dream.

Bleary-eyed, Altair finally parted with the king’s advisors—his advisors now—some time after dawn. Funerals had been arranged. so was his upcoming coronation. He would be moving into the king’s quarters as soon as his father’s body was moved. It was all going far too fast, but Altair couldn’t stop the march of time.

After the advisors left the king’s bedchamber, Altair was left alone with Malik. No. Not alone. With a jolt of surprise, he realize his father’s Guardian was still there. He hadn’t moved from his position all night. He hadn’t spoken a single word either.

Altair hesitated. He knew the older Guardian very little, and his hard expression and stoicism used to frighten him as a child. Now that the old king was dead though, he supposed he should see to the man’s needs.

“Yusuf?”

Yusuf blinked slowly, seeming to come back from very far inside his own head. “Your majesty?” he finally said in an emotionless voice.

Altair shuddered. That voice… it was almost like speaking to the already-dead, and it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He shook himself. He needed sleep badly if he was starting to imagine such things. “Yusuf, can you tell me anything else about Father’s death?”

“No, your majesty.” He bowed deeply. “I failed in my duty to protect him.”

Altair wasn’t ready to throw blame at anyone yet. “If it was a stroke, no one was responsible,” he said firmly, although he didn’t really believe it was a stroke.

Yusuf and Malik both looked at him like he was a little daft, and Altair sighed. “All right. No, it probably wasn’t a stroke. But there is no proof my father was murdered.”

“I trust you will find proof at some point,” Yusuf said, his voice still showing absolutely no emotion.

The phrasing, however, had Altair frowning. He would have expected the guardian to be bent on finding the ones responsible for the assassination, if truly that is what happened. But he appeared totally removed from any thought of investigating his charge’s death. 

“Won’t you be helping us do so?” Altair asked, frowning.

“No, your majesty,” Yusuf answered, and a look of—was it pain?—crossed his features. It disappeared almost at once, before Altair could be certain.

“Why not?” Altair didn’t understand the Guardian’s refusal.

“My duty is over. My life has ended with with his. I am but the dead talking.”

Altair opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but then snapped it shut again. Memories from years ago surfaced in his mind, of Al Mualim explaining to him the duties of a Guardian the day before Malik’s arrival at the palace. Devoted unto death, they were sworn to live only as long as their charge breathed. Having failed to protect King Umar, Yusuf would now follow him into the grave.

_No._

“I forbid it,” he blurted out. Both Yusuf and Malik looked at him as if he’s suddenly sprouted a third eye. “I forbid you from killing yourself,” he repeated, glaring at Yusuf, then at Malik for good measure. 

Again, Yusuf and Malik exchanged a look Altair couldn’t quite decipher. Then, Yusuf said, “I appreciate your kindness, your majesty.” His expression softened. “But this is the way of the Guardians. Not even a king can change fate.”

“Sire,” Malik cut in, his voice gentler than Altair was used to hearing. “You should try to rest for a few hours. There is still much to be done.”

Altair looked to Yusuf, but the man had returned to inspecting the floor, clearly finished with this conversation. Still, Altair wanted to protest and order the man to stay alive. Malik’s hand fell on his shoulder and the Guardian step closer, until Malik’s body heat warmed his back. “Let it go, sire. It won’t change anything.”

Altair let Malik lead him outside the king’s quarters without any more protest, but once they were alone and out of earshot, he stopped and rounded on the other man. “How can you say that? He’s your fellow Guardian!”

“Yes, and we all know the price to pay for failing in our duties. It is something we all abide by.”

The truth settled on Altair’s shoulders, heavy as the heaviest of armor. His throat suddenly dry, he asked, even though he already knew the answer, “Even you?”

“Yes, sire.”

They reached Altair’s chambers before he could find something else to say. At the door, Malik stopped. “Please go inside, sire,” he said, waving Altair inside. “I shall be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“I… have my own duty to perform now.”

He left before Altair could ask what he meant by this. For a moment, he thought of following after the Guardian, but something—perhaps the look of anguish he’d spied in Malik’s eyes—stopped him from doing so.

Instead, he waited for Malik’s return, pacing up and down his sitting room, too riled up to sit let alone lie down and sleep. An hour later, the door creaked open and Malik slipped inside. “Malik?” _Where did you go? What did you do?_ Questions crowded his mind, but they all died in his throat when he noticed the splatter of fresh blood on Malik’s cheek, with more dotting the forearm sporting the hidden blade.

“What did you do?” he finally managed to croak, fearing that he already knew,but needing an answer all the same.

“What I had to do,” Malik answered simply, and looked away.

 

*****

 

King Umar’s funeral lasted almost a week. Through it all, Altair was at the forefront of an unending series of ceremonies, rituals, and appointed meetings with his father’s old allies. Malik followed him everywhere, alert to any sign of danger, going so far as to taste his prince’s food before each meal. Not that it had mattered much. Altair’s appetite was gone and he’d barely touched his food. Malik also knew he slept little, spending what short amount of time he had at night tossing and turning in bed.

Altair had been moved to the king’s quarters the day after King Umar's death, although his coronation wouldn’t happen for another ten days. In a move Malik approved of, Altair had then ordered most of Umar's old guard away, deciding instead to rely on the small number of men who had protected him most of his life. Captain Rauf’s report, which he had given in person to Altair and Malik on the second morning, had been inconclusive. Too many people had access to the king, from servants to advisors, and figuring out who had poisoned Umar would be a near impossible task.

After his last meeting for the day—which has ended long after nightfall—Altair made his way slowly back to his new quarters. Malik’s eyes followed as he ran a hand through his already mussed hair. Malik’s hands itched to smooth the rebellious locks, and he froze when he realized he was already raising a hand to do so.

He lowered his hand back and sighed. 

“It’s been a long day,” Altair said in answer to his sigh.

“Yes, sire.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this exhausted before.”

Malik frowned at Altair’s back. “If you ate and slept as you should, you wouldn’t feel so tired.”

Altair shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

“It will not help anyone if you fall ill or collapse before your coronation day.”

“Wouldn’t that be a sight, though? The king, absent from his own coronation…”

Altair was jesting, Malik knew, but there was something cowed, almost scared, in his prince’s tone. As though he truly was thinking of missing his own coronation. Malik cleared his throat. “Sire? Are you well?” 

Altair grimaced. “Next week, I’ll be turning twenty-one; they set the ceremony on the day of my birth. I expected a celebration, not a coronation. I knew I would become king at some point, but I thought...” He trailed off and ran a hand through his hair again. “I thought I had a few more years in front of me. I don’t know how to be a king, Malik. What am I going to do?”

“Learn, sire. Learn.”

*****

Altair watched his reflexion in the window of his bedchamber, and could barely recognize himself. He ran a hand down the front of the white robes he wore, stopping briefly on the blood red sash and large stiff leather belt. The garment felt stiff and heavy on his shoulders, as heavy as the office they represented. Up until now, his father had been the one to wear the white hooded robes of the king of Masyaf. Now, it was Altair’s turn. 

Altair reached down to grab the ceremonial dagger from where it rested on the window’s edge, and fastened it to his belt. He sighed deeply. He’d never felt less like a king than on this day, the day of his coronation. And yet he had no choice. May Allah protect him. He would need it.

Then he thought, “No… not Allah…” Instead, a Guardian with burning dark eyes, strong shoulders, and calloused fingers. Altair shivered.

As if answering Altair’s thought, Malik chose that moment to return. He had left the room just as Altair was getting ready to change, saying he would be back soon. 

Altair turned to face Malik, feeling more than a little awkward in his new clothes. Malik looked at him from head to toes—really _looked_ at him—in a way that left Altair’s heart pounding. “So, how do I look?” he said as he tried very hard not to pay attention to his physical reaction.

A corner of Malik’s mouth twitched. “Very fetching, sire.”

Altair snorted. “Funny.”

Malik approached, holding up an object wrapped in linen. “What is it?” Altair asked, perking an eyebrow. It couldn’t be yet another coronation gift, as it was far too simply presented. And then he didn’t see why Malik would have one of those with him.

Malik looked more uncomfortable than Altair had ever seen him, but his tone stayed neutral as he said, “My present to you for your coronation, sire. It’s time I gave it to you.”

Even more puzzled now, Altair accepted the gift and glanced at Malik. The Guardian’s expression gave away nothing. Altair used the ceremonial dagger to cut through the pieces of twine keeping the linen tightly wrapped. The fabric fell away, revealing leather and metal plating. It took a moment for Altair to realize what he held. The new hidden blade Malik had said he would get for him that morning, after the attack. This one was more of a gauntlet than a bracer, with the metal plates protecting the forearm and wrist intricately engraved with the symbols of Masyaf’s royal family. The craftsmanship on display was impressive, and it would look to less observant eyes to be nothing more than a flashy ornament.

 _No one need know you wear it_ , Malik had said at the time, and he hadn’t been lying.

“Oh,” Altair breathed.

“Let me,” Malik said, mirroring his words from two years before.

He took the new hidden blade from Altair’s hands and gripped his right wrist. Altair watched, transfixed, as his Guardian bent over his hand and went to work on installing the gauntlet, tightening the straps and closing the buckles with practiced fingers.

Altair’s skin felt too tight, his heart pounded, and his mouth turned dry as the desert. Far too soon, Malik completed his task and stood back straight. Their eyes crossed, held, and air was suddenly in short supply. Altair licked his lips, and Malik’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue.

Altair couldn’t say if he was he one to take that last step closing the gap between Malik and himself or if Malik did, but next thing he knew, their lips were brushing against each other’s. The guardian uttered something between a moan and a growl, a sound that traveled straight to Altair’s cock. Altair leaned into the kiss, and Malik’s hand grabbed his biceps, tightening almost painfully. He found himself being turned around, pushed against the wall, and Malik’s hard body pressed against his. “Malik,” he groaned as he tried to come up for air, but Malik captured his mouth again.

Their kiss was a mashing of teeth and hard mouths, Malik pushing his tongue against Altair’s lips until he had no choice but to allow him entry. Then he tasted Malik for the first time, a mix of the grapes he’d eaten for breakfast and pure, unadulterated man. 

He clutched at Malik’s clothes, tried to tear away his shirt. The guardian grabbed his wrists, brought his arms up above his head, kept them there using one hand while the other pressed against his heart, all this without ever breaking their kiss.

Malik plundered Altair’s mouth, more violent than tender, like a man kept away from water for too long. There was no denying his all-encompassing need.

Eventually, they had to break apart again, if only to catch their breath. “Malik,” Altair repeated, but then fell silent. He had no idea what to say. He could still taste him on his lips, feel the heat of his body, burning hot as a flame. His cock throbbed, straining against his breeches.

Malik stepped back, leaving Altair bereft of his warmth. Altair bit back a moan of protest. Not the time; not the place. He couldn’t—

When Malik reached for him again, he almost flinched. But he wasn’t leaning in for a kiss this time. Instead, Malik smoothed down Altair’s unruly hair, before adjusting the white hood back over his head. The cowl’s shadows concealed Altair’s stunned expression and kiss-swollen lips. 

“I believe you will make a great king,” Malik said, moving his hands to Altair’s shoulders. There, they rested for a moment, before he retrieved them. How could he sound so calm, Altair thought, still reeling. He wasn’t even panting.

Altair closed his eyes and tried to put some order to his thoughts, to calm his galloping heart. “The coronation,” he said after a moment. They had to be waiting for him by now.

“Yes,” Malik agreed. “Time for everyone to meet the new king of Masyaf.”

“Right.”

Time to greet his destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that was probably the most over-the-top kiss I've written. it was fun. I feel bad for poor Malik. And Alti. Poor Alti, hehehe...
> 
> Always loving to hear from you guys, so don't hesitate to leave a comment!
> 
> EDIT : I went ahead and changed the name of the king from Abbas to Umar (Just found out it was the name of Altair's father in canon).


	3. Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malik and Altair foil an assassination attempt, get into an argument, and have make out sex...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Images for this chapter :  
> http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/82599329562/sorry-im-bad-at-comics  
> http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/81123811401/king-altair-as-part-of-a-bigger-wip-i-dont-think

The crowd was making Malik twitchy, but it couldn’t be avoided at this point. Everyone who was everyone in Masyaf had come to Altair’s coronation, to see and be seen. King Umar's murderer might well be hiding in plain sight right somewhere amongst this sea of people. Now, Malik only had to figure out who represented a threat to his prince, now king. One of the old king’s advisors? One of the foreign dignitaries traveling back and forth between countries. A noble from one of the families close to the throne? Someone he hadn’t thought about yet?

So many possible suspects. Malik wasn’t a fan of uncertainty. Give him a target, an adversary. This he could deal with. But he couldn’t fight against nebulous threats and shadowy conspiracies, and it drove him to distraction.

He tightened his hand around the hilt of his falchion and looked toward the dais where Altair stood, immobile. His face was partially hidden by the hood of his robes, but Malik didn’t need to see it to remember it in details. The tousled hair, the sharp features, the brown eyes that shone almost amber in the light of a flame, the generous lips with that scar that made Malik want to lick and nibble at it. He felt himself begin to harden at the thought, and attempted to clear his mind. _Focus._

At that moment, his gaze crossed Altair’s. Altair’s cheeks colored with pink and Malik smirked slightly, delighted by the fact that Altair might also be remembering their kiss. 

Altair eventually wrenched his eyes away from Malik to fix them on the old advisor, Al Mualim. Malik watched as Al Mualim approached the king’s dais, holding the velvet pillow on which rested the golden apple of Eden, symbol of Masyaf’s royalty. Altair lowered his hand on top of it and, in a voice that boomed across the cavernous great hall, swore to uphold Masyaf’s traditions, protect its people, and use his powers as king in a just and fair manner.

When Al Mualim took the apple away again, Altair’s arm dropped back to his side, and Malik saw him fist both hands and close his eyes for a beat. 

It was done. Altair ibn’ La-Ahad was now king.

Malik was glad they would soon be leaving the great hall. Too open for his taste, and up there on the dais Altair was far too vulnerable to attacks. Although… who would be stupid enough to attack the new king on the day of his coronation, in front of everyone? In front of Malik?

Guests filed away slowly, and Malik waited for Altair to move. Eventually, Altair stepped down the dais and made his way to the back of the hall, where doors led back to the king’s quarters. Malik followed, as always, in his king’s shadow. Altair rubbed a hand over his face once they were out of view. “Well, that’s done I guess,” he said, sounding tired.

“There will be a public celebration tonight,” Malik reminded him.

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten. I don’t think there’s any way I can skip being there.” He sighed. “I hate feeling like I’m being put on display.”

And Malik hated that he wouldn’t be able to clear who approached Altair first.

“You look tense,” Altair commented.

“I am not,” was Malik’s instinctual rebuttal. A Guardian shouldn’t let their charge know they were worried. A Guardian always appeared unflappable.

“Ha. Could have fooled me.”

Malik allowed himself a swift smile, and the two men fell into companionable silence. They were getting close to Altair’s bedchamber when Malik spotted movement. Someone was hiding in one of the corridors’ small recesses, about fifteen feet in front of their position. Malik grabbed Altair’s arm and pushed him behind his back. In the same movement, he slid out his hidden blade, ready to strike.

“Malik?” Altair whispered in question. A quick backward glance showed Malik that Alair had also drawn his blade, and stood ready to defend himself.

The form Malik had spotted did not move towards them. Instead, they tried to retreat farther back into the scant shadows of the corridor. Not much of a threat, Malik’s instincts told him. Still, whoever it was wasn’t supposed to be there, and the fact they were trying to hide their presence didn’t bode well. 

“Show yourself,” he ordered, then waited.

The shuffling of feet, several second later, announced that their intruder was moving. When they finally moved into the light, Malik recognized the young servant girl he’d spoken to the night of king Umar's death. She trembled so badly he thought she might pass out at any moment. “What are you doing here, girl?” he asked, resheathing his blade. At this point, he doubted very much that he would need to use it.

Maria shook, looking at him with her big, scared eyes, and didn’t answer.

“Who is this?” Altair said, leaving the protection offered by Malik’s body. Malik bit back an order to stay behind him, but still glared at his king. Altair quirked his eyebrow back at him in answer, as if to say “I can do what I want”.

“She was the servant girl present the night your father died.” 

“Oh… yes, I think I remember now.” Altair turned to the girl. “Maria, what are you doing here?”

Maria shook her head, her eyes darting right and left fearfully. “Not here,” she finally whispered.

Altair made his way to his door and opened it, gesturing that they should head inside. “We can talk in here, then.”

Malik waited, making certain the servant girl followed at a respectful distance from Altair, then fell into step just behind her. He saw her shoulders tense, and she looked like she might be ready to bolt. Malik, however, was blocking her only exit.

“Now, Maria,” Altair said once Malik had closed the door behind them. “What is it you came here to tell us?”

“Your majesty, forgive me. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I was in the servants quarters earlier and I heard talk…” She gulped, her hands worrying the front of her dress nervously. 

“What did you hear, Maria, that made you come straight here?”

That’s also what Malik wanted to know.

“I heard people talking. They were talking about you, your majesty. And about tonight’s celebration. They said… they said they’d use the crowd as cover to get close enough to kill you.”

Altair stilled, staring at Maria. Malik wanted to shake her. Who? Who was planning on assassinating his king? He reached for her, but Altair raised a hand to stop him. “Peace, Malik.” then, he turned his attention back on the servant girl “Who said that?”

“I… I don’t know.” she sniffed and wiped some tears from her eyes. “I didn’t see who they were, your majesty. What with the coronation happening, the servants’ quarters are so full of people. And then… and then I was afraid that if I tried to find out who it was, they would know I heard them and they would kill me.”

Altair nodded. “I understand. You did well in staying hidden, Maria. Now, how many voices did you hear?”

“Two men, I think, your majesty.”

“Could you recognize their voices if you heard them again?” Malik cut in sharply.

Maria flinched at the sound of his voice, but then took a deep breath to regain her composure. “I… I don’t know. Maybe,” she said after thinking about it for a moment. “There was a lot of noise, though.”

“Thank you for warning us, Maria,” Altair said. “Now, you should return to work before your absence is remarked upon.” he glanced to Malik, perhaps waiting to see if the guardian had anything to add. Malik shook his head.

“Y—yes, your majesty.”

Malik opened the door and stepped into the hall. He waited until Maria walked out and had disappeared from view before he returned inside. Altair hadn’t moved. Looking down at the floor in front of him, he appeared deep in thoughts.

“Sire?”

“We knew this might happen,” Altair said after a long silence. His expression had turned somber. “They killed my father after all, whoever _they_ are.”

“When they come tonight, I’ll be ready.”

Altair grimaced. “Always ready to protect me, aren’t you Malik?”

“Yes, sire. Always.”

He had reasons other than simply his duty to want Altair safe, reasons having to do with a jumble of emotions he prefered not to examine too closely. He could still feel the press of Altair’s body, the texture of his skin, and the taste of him— 

“Malik?”

Malik snapped out of his thoughts. “Sire?

“You looked like you were very far away just now.”

_Do not blush…_

“I was thinking of our would-be-murderers, sire,”

“Oh… is that was it was?” Altair’s lips curled into a smirk.

Malik felt the urge to kiss that smirk right off Altair’s mouth. The cheeky, arrogant bastard. And from the look of him, it seemed like Altair knew it too—might even be daring him to do so. Malik cleared his throat, schooling his features back into an expressionless mask. “Sire, I propose we call on Captain Rauf and his men and start preparing for tonight.”

“Do you have a plan then?”

Malik nodded. He did indeed, although he doubted Altair would approve of it. He didn’t care; he would do what needed to be done.

 

*****

 

Altair stood by his bedchamber’s only window, looking out at the darkening sky. Not far away, his supper laid uneaten on his desk. He wasn’t happy. He understood the need to catch their would-be assassins, alive if possible, but their plan for doing so sucked, if he might say so himself. Unfortunately, his opinion had been overruled by both Malik and Captain Rauf.

The sound of footsteps behind him announced Malik’s return, and Altair turned around to face him. Malik had stopped in the middle of the room, standing still as though waiting for Altair to speak first. He wore one of Altair’s white ceremonial robes, and with its hood pulled over his head it was almost impossible to tell it was him. 

“Sire,” Malik eventually said when Altair didn’t otherwise react to his arrival.

“I see you’ve already changed.”

“Yes. The celebration has started and your people are waiting.”

Altair looked Malik up and down, a slight frown creasing his brow. Although Malik was about an inch taller than him, with broader shoulders and darker skin, one would have to see them standing side by side, with their hoods down, to see the difference. In the end, he had to admit Malik had been right. “You look a lot like me indeed.”

Malik inclined his head. “That was the plan.”

Altair still didn’t like that plan one bit. The idea of Malik playing bait to assassins sat badly with him. “Yeah, the plan.”

He raised a hand to smooth down the front of Malik’s robes, but ended up clutching at it instead, unwilling to let him go. “I just don’t like it, that plan of yours. Too many things could go wrong, even with Captain Rauf as backup.”

His expression never changing, Malik replied, “It is my job to protect you. And I will. By any means.”

 _I know this, Allah dammit!_ That didn’t mean he had to like it.

Altair sighed deeply. He took one step closer and felt Malik tense somewhat. He didn’t care. If Malik was to risk his life for him tonight, Altair wanted to feel his closeness one last time. “I know, Malik. And I still don’t like it.”

“Your… concern for my life is appreciated, sire.”

“Just be prudent, will you? I don’t want to go through the hassle of finding a new Guardian.” Altair tried to keep his voice calm, sarcastic even, but thought he might had failed when Malik’s expression gentled.

Malik’s strong hands went to cover his own, and he bent to touch his forehead to Altair’s. “Duly noted, sire,” he whispered.

Altair leaned into the Guardian’s strong body, wanting… A sharp knock on the door startled him out of the embrace, and he pulled away. Malik kept hold of his hands a moment longer, but then let go. “This must be Captain Rauf.”

Altair felt his cheeks flame. “Right.”

“Stay in your quarters for now, sire. I will come back as soon as possible.”

Altair nodded somewhat mulishly, and watched Malik leave the room to join Captain Rauf in the corridor. The door closed behind the two men, leaving Altair alone with his thoughts. He began to pace the room, too restless to sit, or even stand still for very long. He wondered what Malik was doing. Had he and Captain Rauf reached the great hall already? Would Malik be safe? Would they catch their would-be-assassins? So many questions without an answer. The uncertainty alone prevented Altair from being able to calm himself.

After a time, he cursed and stopped his pacing. “This is ridiculous,” he said out loud, his voice echoing in the empty room. “I’m the king here. I can leave my room if so wish. I’m not some unruly child anymore.”

His decision taken, he looked around his bedchamber. First order of business was changing his clothes. No way he could get out of his quarters still wearing the king’s white robes and not attract attention. He fished through his closets until he found something better. He threw on his bed a pair of dark breeches, a dark green embroidered kamiz, and a gold-colored cowl. They were all richly made, but at least they didn’t scream royalty. 

Altair stripped out of his clothes and quickly changed. He made sure to strap the hidden blade back on his forearm, and then hesitated about taking his short sword with him. In the end, though, he left it behind. No guest of his coronation could carry a weapon, and doing so himself would only get him stopped by his own guards. He didn’t want to have to explain why he was skulking around incognito.

Knowing guards roamed the corridor outside his room, barring his exit, Altair moved to the window. It was narrow, but he should fit. He grimaced. He hadn’t attempted to escape his room through the window since before he had met Malik. He wasn’t thirteen anymore, and although he was in better shape than he’d been then, he had lost some of the fearlessness of his childhood.

The window gave onto a sheer wall dropping down almost a hundred feet. The closest opening was about fifteen feet down, Altair knew, and opened into the servants’ quarters. Whatever you do, don’t look down, he told himself as he straddled the window sill and slipped out. With the tip of one foot, he found a crack and used it to lower himself slightly. From handgrip to handgrip, toehold to toehold, he climbed down until he reached his destination. By the time he managed to open the window and slide inside, his arms were shaking from both nerves and fatigue. 

Altair sat with his knees up and his head down, and took a moment to catch his breath. You’re out of practice, he thought, and then made a face. Malik would look at him in that way Altair knew so well, with that expression showing he wondered if Altair had lost his mind, were he to tell the Guardian he wanted to practice climbing walls. Altair snorted softly. It might be worth it just to see that expression on Malik’s face.

He got back to his feet when he heard people approaching. Servants. He couldn’t stay here too long or he’d attract attention. He lowered the cowl lower over his face to hide his features and moved away from the window. He had a vague idea of finding Maria again and ask for her help in finding the men she’d heard. He paused. Those servants could tell him where Maria was.

A gasp of surprise announced that he’d been noticed. “Sir, what are you doing here?” and older female voice called to him.

Altair turned to face a group of four women, the oldest of whom was looking at him severely, her hands on her generous hips. He didn’t recognized any of them, but they were all dressed as palace servants.

“Guests shouldn’t be in this wing of the palace, sir,” the older servant continued scolding him. 

He bobbed his head, partly to hide his smirk. How would she react if he realized she was talking to her king as if he were a misbehaving child?

“Very sorry, m’am,” he replied. “I am looking for a servant girl called Maria.”

“And what do you want with her?” the woman asked suspiciously.

Altair suddenly realized his asking could be construed as him trying to seduce the girl, and threw his hands up defensively. “I just need to have a word with her.”

The older servant sniffed and scowled at him, but she must have believed him for in the end, she said, “The girl’s helping in the kitchen. Don’t get her in trouble.”

“Yes m’am.” Altair bobbed his head again, and hurried away before the women could ask more questions.

Thanks to a combination of hiding any time he heard voices or footsteps, and sheer luck, Altair reached the palace’s kitchens without having to explain his presence to anyone else. The kitchens were bustling with activity, with servants hurrying in and out with platters of food, various meats and other ingredients, and enough spiced wine to intoxicate an army.

Hidden in the far corner of the corridor, Altair waited for Maria. He waited five, maybe ten minutes, before he saw the girl walk out, a pile of clean dishes in her hands.

“Maria,” he called, keeping his voice just above a whisper.

The servant girl stopped and looked around the corridor, her expression seeming confused. 

“Maria,” he repeated a little louder. “Here.”

He saw Maria blanch, but she still put down her pile of dishes and approached him slowly, her hand slipping under her apron to clutch at something. Was she carrying a weapon, Altair wondered. Clever girl. Afraid but ready to defend herself.

“Who… who’s there?” she said as she got closer.

“Peace,” Altair said, showing her both hands to assure her he was unarmed. He stepped out of the shadows where he was hiding and lowered his cowl. Maria’s eyes grew round as marbles as she recognized him.

“Your majesty, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed, then bit her lip as though realizing she shouldn’t be questioning her king.

“I need your help, Maria.”

Maria licked her lips nervously. “A… anything, your majesty.”

“I want to find the men you heard earlier.”

She stared at him, opened her mouth, closed it again, and finally said, “Isn’t it your Guardian’s role to do so?” in a very small voice.

Altair scowled. He didn’t like being reminded that he should be back in his quarters waiting for Malik. “I can take of those conspirators myself,” he snapped.

Maria looked down, flushing. “Yes, your majesty.”

Altair sighed, already regretting the sharpness of his tone. “Malik is also trying to find them, but he can’t do everything on his own.” _Despite what Malik might think._  
“If you say so, your majesty.”

“You said you might be able to recognize their voice. Is this true?”

“I… I think so.”

“Good.” Altair’s plan, such as it was, was getting clearer in his mind. “Come with me. We’ll look for them together.”

“But your majesty. I can’t just leave like this. I am supposed to be working in the kitchens tonight,” she protested.

“Leave it. I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble for it.”

Maria bit her lower lip and nodded. Satisfied, Altair took the lead, certain without ever looking over his shoulder that the girl would follow him.

 

*****

 

Too many people. Altair came to that conclusion soon after they reached the great hall. It seemed even more crowded than during the coronation. Or perhaps it was because he now stood in the middle of the crowd instead of up on the dais, removed from it.

Malik—parading as him—had not made an appearance. Altair knew he had to be somewhere in the room, but he’d yet to find him. 

“What now?” Maria asked him in a small voice.

“We make our way to the front,” he answered. “Chances are good that’s where the conspirators are if they plan on trying to kill me.”

Maria nodded and stayed close as they made their way slowly through the throng of people, toward the front end of the great hall. Altair caught a glimpse of white that told him Malik was there now, and he lengthened his steps, worry gnawing at his insides.

Malik could take care of himself, Altair reminded himself, but that did little to soothe his nerves. He should never have agreed to Malik’s plan. He was king; he should have insisted on finding another way.

Maria grabbed the back of his kamiz, bringing him to a stop. “I think I just heard one of them,” she murmured when he turned to look at her.

“Where?”

She shook her head and made a face. “I’m not sure.”

Altair looked around, his eyes traveling from face to face in search of some indication someone was plotting murder. No one looked particularly guilty, however, and he cursed under his breath. “Let’s move closer. Keep listening. Hopefully you’ll hear him again.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Altair kept his left hand slightly raised at his side, the way Malik had showed him, so he could slide the hidden blade out at a moment’s notice. He needed to find the would-be-assassins before they reached Malik.

In the end, he was almost too late. Altair had found himself stuck between a group of drunk revelers and one of the walls, when he saw a sudden burst of movement to his left. At the same moment, Maria yelled, “There!”, pointing at two men who had just felled one of the guards protecting the false king-Malik. A second guard crumpled to the floor, a throwing knife sticking out of his throat.

Cursing, Altair rushed forward, flicking his wrist to release the hidden blade. People in the hall screamed and tried to retreat, while Captain Rauf screamed orders at his men. In the confusion, Altair didn’t think the captain had managed to see the assailants, and he had left Malik on his own. Even if this was part of their plan to draw the men into the open, Altair didn’t like how exposed it left his Guardian.

Movement to his left again. One man had drawn a small handheld crossbow and was about to shoot in Malik’s direction. In a burst of speed, Altair closed the distance between them and tackled the man. They crashed to the floor in such a way that the shot went wide, and the bolt shattered into pieces as it struck the wall over Altair’s head.

The man kicked at him and tried to roll over. Altair held on, grabbing the man by the throat with his free hand and pointing the hidden blade at his right eye. “You will stop struggling or I swear I’ll take you eye out,” he growled.

The man froze for a moment, but then started struggling again in earnest. “You won’t get me alive.”

Altair pressed his blade just under the man’s eye, drawing blood, and tightened the hand around his neck. He wasn’t willing to push things further at this point, needing the man alive for questioning. His opponent, possibly feeling his indecision, suddenly kicked at Altair’s legs and pushed him off his chest. He punched Altair with enough force to have him taste blood. Altair retaliated by driving his hidden blade into the man’s thigh.

With a scream of pain and fury, the man stumbled back… right into the waiting grasp of Captain Rauf and his men. Malik stood a few feet behind the captain, looking unharmed, and was staring—glowering—at Altair.

Altair felt his cheeks grow warm at the intensity of Malik’s gaze. Now might be a good moment to slink away, he thought sheepishly, but Malik reached his side before he could figure out a way to do so.

“Sire,” was the only thing the Guardian said before grabbing him by one arm and hauling him away from the great hall, leaving Captain Rauf and half the guests to gape at them.

 

*****

 

“What in Allah’s name were you thinking?” Malik bit out as soon as they reached the relative privacy of the royal quarters.

Altair tried to shake off Malik’s grip on his bicep, but the other man refused to let him go. He felt his temper flare at the manhandling. “Let go of me,” he ordered.

“No,” Malik replied. He propelled Altair past the threshold of his bedchamber and slammed the door shut behind them. Altair had never seen the Guardian looking so angry before, and the sight of Malik’s fury made his heart pound. 

“You could have been killed. I wasn’t there to protect you and you could have well died back there.”

“I had everything under control,” Altair shot back, although the fact that the entire right side of his face still throbbed from the punch he’d received belied his statement.

“He could have killed you,” Malik repeated, lips pulled back against his teeth in a snarl. “He almost did.”

Altair winced, remembering the crossbow bolt hitting the wall over his head. But then anger replaced guilt in his mind. “You’ve spent the three years training me, Malik. I can take care of myself. I’m not defenseless!”

Malik’s nostrils flared, and for a moment he looked like he might want to shake some sense into Altair. “I didn’t need your help,” he snapped. “It wasn’t your role. Why would you risk your life like this? Have you lost your mind?”

“I was worried about you, Allah dammit!” Altair screamed, pushed beyond his limits by Malik’s scolding. Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he understand that Altair had been scared for his life?

“You are the king of Masyaf,” Malik roared back. “I am a slave. A king does not worry about his slaves.”

Altair attempted to punch him at that point, but Malik caught his fist easily enough. Altair then did the second best thing he could think of: he smashed his mouth against Malik’s, kissing him furiously. Malik froze, making no move to answer the kiss, but he didn’t push Altair away either.

Eventually, Altair pulled back and scowled at Malik. “You might be a slave, but you’re my slave. _Mine._ And I will not stand aside while you risk your life for me.”

Malik’s expression reflected a mixture of still white-hot anger, and shock. “I am your Guardian, sire. Risking my life in the line of duty is inevitable.” He seemed to deflate somewhat as he said this.

“Altair.” Altair leaned into Malik’s body, bringing them nose to nose. “We’ve known each other for six years. It’s time you learned that I have a name, and I want you to use that name when we’re alone together.”

“Sire, I can’t do that. You are king. I am but your Guardian.”

Altair moved even closer and pressed a hand on Malik’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeats under his palm. His lips hovered over Malik’s, the muggy warmth of Malik’s breath fanning over his face. What was he doing, part of him wondered. He really shouldn’t be doing this, and yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. “And yet, you aren’t moving away. Why is it?”

Malik’s groan sounded like a capitulation. He grabbed Altair by the back of the neck and went for his mouth. The force of his kiss, the desperation of it, took Altair by surprise and chased away any other thought from his mind. There was only Malik; Malik’s hand in his hair, Malik’s mouth plundering his own, Malik’s hard body pressed against his, showing the first signs of arousal. 

Malik bit into his lower lip, and the sharp little pain had Altair moaning for more. He grabbed and tugged at Malik’s white robes in an attempt to get to his bare skin. Malik grasped his hands, tried to pull them away from him, and broke the kiss to hiss, “Sire—”

“What did I tell you about using my name?” He smirked. “I’ll make sure you scream it at the top of your lungs before we’re through.”

“Is this a threat, _sire_?”

“A promise.”

Malik barked a laugh, sounding a little breathy. “Would you even know how?”

Altair flinched and his grin faltered. Malik had been living in his shadow for the last six years, and he knew everything Altair had—and hadn’t… mostly hadn’t—experienced. Malik knew quite well that Altair had no way to back his bold statement. 

Malik watched him for a short time, before suddenly crowding closer, forcing Altair backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he lost his balance. He sat down and Malik leaned forward, caging him between his body and the mattress. His eyes were two pits of darkness and his expression was hard to read when he said, “Is this really what you want?”

Altair licked his lips and nodded, at a loss for words for once. It was Malik’s turn to smirk. “Isn’t that a sight. I rarely see you reduced to silence.”

“Oh, shut up,” Altair mumbled, and grabbed the front of Malik’s robes to pull him forward into another scorching kiss.

Malik grasped his hips and pulled him closer, until his ass almost hung off the bed. “Spread your legs,” he said, and stepped between Altair’s thighs as soon as he complied. Altair groaned when he felt Malik’s hands slide under his kamiz to spread across the skin of his stomach. 

They kissed again, passionate and desperate, a gnash of teeth and lips and tongues. Malik pulled Altair’s kamiz open, and Altair quickly got rid of it by throwing it into a corner of the room. Malik’s lips traveled lower, leaving a trail made of nips and licks from his chin, down his neck and to his chest. Altair grew still, trembling, when Malik reached his right nipple and took it between his teeth. He hissed, caught between pain and shocked pleasure when the teeth closed around it and Malik’s tongue rasped across the tip.

Altair’s breeches were becoming uncomfortably tight, especially when Malik’s fingers traveled along his thighs, getting closer to his imprisoned cock. Before they reached it, they stopped. Malik looked up at him and said, “Last chance, sire.”

Altair cursed under his breath. “Altair. My name’s Altair. And don’t stop.” He grabbed at Malik’s robes again, and this time Malik didn’t stop him.

The next few minutes were spent battling to get Malik’s weapons, sash, robes and boots off. Once he was naked from the waist up, Altair raked over the Guardian’s tight, muscular body with his gaze, pausing over the growing bulk in his breeches. He was panting, shivering without being able to stop himself, and feverish with arousal.

Malik leaned in to capture his lips, and Altair all but flew apart when Malik started grinding against him. He clutched at Malik’s hair as he devoured his mouth with just as much enthusiasm as Malik did. His hips moved of their own accord, needing more of the tortuous friction between their bodies.

When they came up for air this time, they were both panting, and sweat sheened on Malik’s forehead. Without a word, Malik reached and untied Altair’s breeches to slip his hand inside.

“Oh, fuck,” Altair groaned, almost reverently, when Malik’s fingers clasped and tightened around his cock. 

“So hard already.” Malik grinned and began to work his hand up and down, his thumb circling the head and spreading its moisture along the length of him.

Before Altair could find some witty reply, Malik had kneeled in front of him and pulled his breeches and boots all the way off. He gave Altair a look of unadulterated lust that would stay burned in Altair’s mind for the rest of his life, before opening his lips and taking Altair’s cock in his mouth.

Wet warmth engulfed him and Altair bit his lower lip not to moan or swear again. Malik was relentless. While sucking him, he continued pumping up and down with one hand in time with his mouth. Very soon, Altair was lying down on the bed with one leg up on Malik’s shoulder and his hands in Malik’s hair, and he could do nothing more than arch his back and push his hips up. He could feel his balls tightening, and he getting so very close… He tried to push Malik away. “Malik, stop!” he panted. “You too… Your breeches. Take them off.”

Malik perked an eyebrow, but nodded. When he stood back up to get rid of the last of his clothing, the loss of his warmth and touch was akin to physical pain. At last, the Guardian stood, gloriously naked and aroused, in front of Altair. He gave the room a glance, seemingly looking for something, and his gaze fell on Altair’s uneaten meal. In two steps, he was at Altair’s desk, and he took from it the small pot of olive oil that had come with the bread. 

_Olive oil?_

Malik stalked back to the bed with all the grace of a big predator, and upended part of the oil over his hand. He straddled Altair’s legs and put his oiled hand between them. The slick fingers once again closed around Altair’s cock, moving up and down until it was coated with oil.

“Lie back,” Malik ordered as he pushed on Altair’s chest with his free hand.

“What—” Altair was too caught in his own mounting pleasure to understand what Malik wanted at first. It was only when, as he lay down, he saw Malik reaching back to slather oil around and inside his anus that Altair realized what the Guardian was planning. Breath escaped his lips in a whoosh that was both shocked gasp and frantic moan.

He watched in frozen fascination as Malik lowered himself slowly over his cock. Warmth engulfed him and he cursed again, “Oh, fuck, Malik.” He grabbed the Guardian’s hips to guide him down. Malik hissed, groaned, and grasped Altair’s shoulders, his muscles trembling. 

“You’re so tight,” Altair moaned when Malik was sitting with Altair’s cock deep inside him.

“Yes,” Malik grunted back, and started moving, up and down, first slowly, then with more and more energy.

At this point, Altair reached for Malik blindly. He wanted to explore every inch of Malik’s flesh, taste his skin, drown in his body. He frowned, though, when his fingers encountered the raised scars on the Guardian’s back. Whip marks. They were his fault.

“Ancient history,” Malik mumbled, as though he knew exactly what Altair was thinking. “Your hand…” he didn’t finish his sentence, instead taking one of Altair’s hands in his own and guiding it to his erect cock.

Altair didn’t need any more encouragement. He wrapped his fingers around Malik’s thick member and began to pump his hand and learn exactly what it took to make Malik unravel. 

They rutted like animal then, full of grunted curses, wet slaps of skin on skin, and sloppy full-mouthed kisses. Altair could feel the last of his control slip away. He was so close it hurt. “Malik, I can’t… I’m almost there.” And he felt the entire lower half of his body tighten, and then release all at once. He arched back and shook all over, his orgasm so strong he was blind and deaf for several breaths.

He heard Malik curse, and he might have said Altair’s name, but Altair was still reeling from his own release and couldn’t be sure of what he heard. After what seemed like an eternity, Malik collapsed on his chest, panting noisily and there they lay still, sticky with sweat and come, and too exhausted to move.

 

*****

 

The warmth of another body in bed with him, their limbs tangled together, was not something Malik had experienced very often in his life. Usually, when he took his pleasure, it was a business quickly done and he never stayed longer than necessary. Now though, he could feel Altair’s steady heartbeats, and Altair’s slow breathing soothed the Guardian to the point of inducing drowsiness.

Still, they couldn’t stay this way forever. He tried to untangle himself from Altair’s body without waking him, but Altair groaned and tightened his arm around him. “Stay,” he whispered sleepily.

Malik hesitated, but then sighed and relaxed back. He could definitely stay in bed for a bit. He closed his eyes when Altair began to trace the scars on his back, and he sighed contentedly.

“I’m sorry,” Altair said after a time.

“About?”

Altair ran his hand across the longest of the scars. “Those. I never apologized for them.”

Malik grunted noncommittally.

“I’m also sorry for tonight. I realize now what could have happened. What would have happened if I died.”

Malik hesitated for a long time before he finally said, “I… appreciate that you cared enough to be worried about me.”

Altair stayed his hand, and stayed silent long enough Malik began to think he’d fallen asleep. But then he spoke again.

“If I die, promise me you’ll avenge me.”

Taken aback, Malik could only answer, “Sire, I cannot—”

“Don’t you “sire” me, Allah damnit. I told you to call me Altair.”

Malik shook his head. “You know I cannot do this. If I fail to protect you, my duty as your Guardian is to forfeit my life.” He felt lost, uncertain what else to say.

“You are my Guardian and mine to command, Malik. I order you to avenge me, should I be killed. Promise me.” He grabbed Malik’s hair and brought his face a hair’s breath from his. “Promise me, Malik,” he repeated.

“I—” Malik gulped, but in the end he couldn’t take Altair’s intense expression, the pain in his gaze. He closed his eyes and sighed. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, this chapter took longer than planned. Sorry for the delay folk, that sex scene took a while to write.


	4. Traitor - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I decided to post the first scene of what will become Chapter 4 immediately, since my writing time has taken a nosedive this week and I thought I'd made you all wait long enough. It's only 1k words but I hope you do like it. I am hard at work writing the rest of it now ^_^

The news reached Altair while he sat in a meeting with Al Mualim and the rest of his father’s advisors. Captain Rauf was the one who brought it to him, interrupting the meeting when he knocked on the door, then slipped inside to whisper it in Altair’s ear.

The two men who had been arrested three nights prior for attempting to assassinate the king had been found dead in their cells, their throats slashed. No one seemed to know when or how it happened, and no one saw anything. Captain Rauf was furious at the guards’ incompetency.

“Gentlemen,” Altair called to the men assembled around him. He smiled tightly, while inside he seethed with anger. “We’ll continue this meeting later.”

He watched the old men file out of the room with a frown. He didn’t like most of them. They had been his father’s advisors for longer than Altair had been alive, and they had grown used to lording over Masyaf. Altair was still young and had little experience with ruling, and he felt they were now trying to take advantage of this.

He would need to decide very soon what to do with them.

Soon, only Al Mualim was left in the room. The old man hovered close to Altair, waiting for permission to talk. Altair made him wait while he tried to decide if he could trust the wizened advisor. Al Mualim had served as one of his tutors for years, and Altair knew him better than any of the other men. Still… after the would-be-assassins’ murders, he didn’t want to trust anyone. 

“What is it?” Altair finally said.

Al Mualim inclined his head respectfully. “I couldn’t help but overhear the captain’s news earlier, your majesty. If there is anything I can do to help investigate the matter, I am yours to command.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” Altair replied, cautious.

Al Mualim lingered a moment longer, but eventually left the room. Altair sighed. He almost regretted having acted so curtly toward his old mentor, but he was king now and needed to learn to act like one.

“Hmmm,” Malik said.

Altair looked his way and raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Malik shook his head. “Nothing, sire. I was thinking.”

Altair would have to get to the bottom of Malik’s unwillingness to explain himself once they were alone together again, but for now the situation in his own dungeon worried him more.

“Captain Rauf, I want a full report,” he said to Rauf, who was still waiting silently to be allowed to speak.

Rauf saluted smartly before he launched into his explanation. “The men were found in their cells less than an hour ago. Their throats had been slit, and their hearts had stopped beating. The blood was still warm, however, and they couldn’t have been dead long.”

“Where were the guards during all of this?”

“That’s the thing, your majesty. They were called away, and left their post for, as far as I could tell, around fifteen minutes. They found the dead men when they returned.”

“Called away?” Malik repeated, one eyebrow raised. There was something dangerous in his gaze, as though he considered the guards departure worthy of punishment.

“The guards were called away and left their post,” Altair also repeated, feeling the start of a headache insinuating itself between his eyes. “They left their post… just like that. Leaving the prisoners alone, with no one watch them.” He felt like cursing. “Are my own palace guards a band of incompetent simpletons?”

Rauf fidgeted, nervous. “Your majesty, if I may…”

“Yes, of course.”

“I questioned the two guards on duty as soon as I learned about the prisoners’ death. The order to leave their post came from their commanding officer, and they couldn’t simply decide not to obey it.”

“What did the officer have to say for himself then?”

Rauf’s cheeks darkened, making Altair wonder if the man was blushing. “That’s the thing, your majesty. I am but a simple captain, and he overanks me. I cannot force him to answer my questions.”

“You may be only a captain, but you are also under my direct orders.” 

Captain Rauf was only one of a few people Altair trusted at this point. He’d had Malik verify the man’s background and had been pleased to learn Rauf had no tie to any of the powerful families circling the throne like vultures, and had come to his position using solely his skills as a soldiers.

“Your majesty,” Rauf said, his posture suddenly straighter. “I will do all I can to get to the bottom of this.”

“Yes, I trust you will. Someone clearly didn’t want these two men to reveal what they knew, and I want to know why.” Altair turned to Malik. “Go with him. Everyone knows you’re my man and carry my authority.”

From Malik’s sour look, that order didn’t sit well with him. Before he could protest, Altair raised a hand and went on, “I know you don’t like to leave my side, but I want you there when Rauf question the officer. To be my eyes and ears.” He grimaced. “I wish I could be there in person, but I can’t really cancel this next audience.”

“I should not be leaving your side, sire,” Malik replied, stiff as a board. If not for the fact Rauf stood not five feet away, Altair was pretty sure he’d have been the recipient of a much harsher scolding. 

“It’s not as though you’ve never done so before.” Altair raised an eyebrow pointedly. “And you did so wearing my clothes too.”

A muscle in Malik’s jaw twitched, and Altair couldn’t help feeling somewhat amused. Teasing the overly serious Guardian had its perks. 

“I’ll be in a secured room, with soldiers guarding every exit. I am also armed. Now, go with Rauf and get me the answers I need.”

Malik huffed but didn’t protest any further. Looking relieved for the backup, Rauf saluted and walked out of the room. Before Malik followed him, he took several steps toward Altair, not stopping until he was a hair’s breadth away. He leaned in so he could whisper in Altair’s ear, “We are not done with this discussion yet, sire.”

Altair couldn’t help the small shiver that ran down his spine. The idea of continuing their discussion in private later… wasn’t a totally unpleasant one.


	5. Traitor - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sorry about those short updates, but I thought it'd be more fun to get short but frequent updates than waiting until I have time to finish the entire chapter, as I'm not really sure yet how to wrap everything up. Enjoy!

Malik knew Captain Rauf was wary of him. He tended to walk just far enough that the Guardian couldn’t easily attack him by surprise. An unnecessary precaution, as Malik had no intention to harm the man unless he became a threat to Altair.

“Tell me about the commander of the dungeon,” he said when it became apparent Rauf wouldn’t volunteer the information.

Rauf’s expression soured. “He is a scion of the Sofian family. A younger son. He got to his position mostly because of his blood-ties.”

Ah, the joys of nepotism and of being noble-born. No wonder Rauf—who despite his skills had been unable to advance past a captaincy—sounded like he’d been forced-fed a bucket of lemons.

“How long has he held his position?”

“Ten years or so.”

Malik nodded. Up until now, he’d had no reason to pay the dungeon and the men guarding it much attention. It was not part of his duties as Guardian to Altair. He might have to review that opinion now that Altair was king, though. Traitors could be hiding anywhere.

By then, they had arrived in view of the dungeon’s guard station. When the guard on duty noticed Malik, his eyes grew round. Everyone knew who he was and what he represented.

“We need to see your commander,” Rauf said after clearing his throat.

The guard’s eyes travelled from Malik to Rauf, and back again, before he answered. “Yes, Captain. I’ll go get him.”

He hurried away from his post, leaving the guard station unmanned, which made Malik roll his eyes and Rauf huff in disgust. “These guards are worse than trainees,” he muttered.

Malik could only agree, and took a mental note to talk to Altair about it. The palace dungeons were guarded even more laxly than a sleepy inland village that hadn’t seen war in two generations. A change in the officer in charge would most probably fix the situation, though.

They had to wait a while—much too long in Malik’s opinion—before the guard returned, Commander Sofian in tow. The Commander was scowling fiercely, until he saw the Guardian and then he tried to school his expression into a more neutral one.

“Guardian,” he greeted Malik formally, then turned to Rauf with a slight sneer on his face. “Captain.”

Rauf tensed and all but bristled at the commander’s obvious disdain, but he kept his calm as he replied just as formally, “We are here on behalf of his majesty, King Altair, to inquire about the two men who died in your dungeon last night.”

It was Commander Sofian’s turn to bristle at the implied accusation of incompetence. He opened his mouth, his face red with anger, but a glance in Malik’s direction was enough to have him snap it shut again. 

“Those two men were accused of attempted regicide,” Malik said coldly. “They were in your custody until they could be interrogated. And yet they died while your own men were nowhere to be seen.”

“I received orders—”

“From whom?” 

“Look, it wasn’t my fault. I only followed orders...” 

“Whose orders,” Malik repeated, his voice growing no louder, but his tone even colder than before.

Commander Sofian glanced down at Malik’s weapons and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He was starting to sweat. Good. Malik had very little patience for incompetent noble-born assholes with too high a view of their own importance. 

A moment later, the commander threw his arms in the air and cursed. “I don’t know why you’re even asking me. The order came from the damn king, and now he’s trying to make it sound I am at fault!”

“Watch your tongue when talking about his majesty,” Rauf said sharply, just as Malik slid his hidden blade out and grabbed the commander by the front of his uniform with his free hand. 

He pulled Sofian toward him and brought the blade under his chin, just nicking the skin but not yet drawing blood. A few feet away, the young guard looked at the scene, eyes huge, but he didn’t intervene. Smart boy. “Now, you will tell me everything, and watch your tone. Noble-born or not, I will carve you up slowly if I have to,” Malik growled.

He watched as Sofian turned a shade between green and gray. “Y...yes…. anything, Guardian,” he stuttered.

“Why would the king order you to get your men out of the dungeon?”

“I don’t know,” he whined. “I only followed orders.”

“And who gave you that order, saying it was from the king?”

“No one. Someone left a note in my office while I wasn’t there. It had the king’s signature and seal. I thought he required privacy for the prisoners’ interrogations.” 

What? That was impossible. There was no way Altair would have given such an order. “Really…” he drawled, letting nothing show in his voice. 

“I swear, Guardian.” Sofian gulped.

“And where if that note now?”

“S… still in my office.”

“Show us,” Malik ordered, before letting go of him. Commander Sofian stumbled back, almost falling flat on his ass.

Under Malik’s glare, he pulled himself back together and nodded. “This way, Guardian.” 

Obsequious now, Commander Sofian led the way back to a lavish room, which looked more like a courtier’s parlor than a proper military commander’s office. The sight of it made Rauf huff in disgust for the second time that day. In other circumstances, Malik might even have been amused by his companion’s reaction. Right now, though, he had other priorities. “The note, Sofian, now.”

Commander Sofian hurried to his desk, but once there he stopped and froze, his face losing what little color it had left.

“A problem, Commander?” Rauf inquired mildly.

“I… it’s not there.”

Malik stalked to his side. 

“I swear, it was there when I left my office earlier.”

Malik exchanged a glance with Rauf. The Captain was starting to look uncomfortable, and was looking at Malik’s hidden blade, still drawn. Malik made a face. He would personally have no qualm torturing even a scion of the noble Sofian family if that helped him find those who threatened his king’s life, but Altair might not appreciate the diplomatic fallout. He stayed his hand. “I hope for your sake that you are telling the truth,” he warned the commander.

“I am, I swear. It was right here not ten minutes ago.”

Someone had entered the commander’s office and taken possession of the compromising note in the time they had spent talking in the corridor. That was quite a short window of opportunity. Almost certainly, someone had been watching Sofian’s office.

That was _if_ the commander told the truth.

Malik cursed under his breath. “Let’s go,” he ordered Rauf and turned on his heels to stalk out of the office.

They were already far along the corridor leading back to the royal quarters when Rauf next spoke. “Was he lying, do you think, or is this a case of simple incompetence?”

For a long moment, Malik said nothing. He was wondering the same thing. Finally, he said, “My instincts tell me he’s not involved in the assassination plot, but we’ll see.”

They stopped in front of the royal chambers’ doors. “You have done well, Captain Rauf.”

Rauf nodded, a hint of pride in his gaze. “Continue your investigation for now. I will talk with his majesty about this latest… development.”

“Very well, Guardian.” Rauf saluted, and left.

With a sigh, Malik pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Altair’s private rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back to Chapter 2 and updated the name of the old king from Abbas to Umar, since that was the name of Altair's father. I didn't know, not having read the books. I should have done my research earlier :-P


	6. Traitor - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik returns to report his findings to Altair. Sassiness and sexiness ensues...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp... I'm starting to think this thing will be longer then planned. Anyway, enjoy this next scene, and once again sorry for the shorter updates.

Altair looked up from the report he was reading when he heard the door open. Malik walked inside on silent feet, as always. With some surprise, Altair felt himself relax now that his Guardian was back. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until now.

“Did you talk to the officer in charge of the dungeon?”

Malik grunted. “Yes.”

“And?”

“The commander’s level of incompetence approaches epic levels.”

Altair couldn’t help his snort. “I figured that out already. What else did you learn?”

“An order was sent to the commander for the guards in the dungeon to vacate their post.”

“An order? Whose order? Those are my dungeons. No one gives orders but me.”

“That’s the thing, sire. According to Commander Sofian, that order came from a missive with your signature and seal.”

That bit of information brought Altair short. “Are you sure the commander spoke the truth?”

Malik shrugged. “I felt no attempt at deception from him, but I could be wrong. I could go back for a more thorough interrogation, if you wish.”

Sofian. That man was part of a powerful family Altair would prefer not to anger at this point in his—very short—reign. He grimaced. He didn’t need the added headache. “I would prefer not. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“As you wish.”

“Now, I would like to take a look at that missive.” He wasn’t sure what he would learn from it, but the fact it supposedly sported his seal and signature worried him.

“You and me both, sire. According to Commander Sofian, it was stolen from his desk while he talked to Captain Rauf and I.”

“Convenient.”

“Rauf is continuing his investigation into the matter.”

“Right. Right.” Altair returned to his desk and sat down with a sigh. He stared at the papers he’d been reading without really seeing them. He felt bone-tired and wondered if his exhaustion would ever truly disappear. In spite of having been groomed for it all his life, the position of king was far more involved than he could ever have imagined.

“Now that I’ve made my report...” Malik said after a long silence.

Altair looked up, only to find himself staring into Malik’s dark eyes. When had the man moved closer? He now leaned over Altair’s desk, his face mere inches from his. “Yes?”

“You sent me away from you side, sire.” Malik scowled down at Altair. “My duty is to protect you, not run whichever errand you send me on,” he all but growled.

Altair sighed deeply. “Malik, I needed you there. You’re the one person I trust with my life. The only person who can be my eyes and ears when I cannot be present.” He looked down at himself. “And I’m unharmed. See, nothing bad happened while you were gone.”

Malik pursed his lips, most probably about to admonish him about his failings some more. Altair didn’t give him the opportunity to do so. Rising from his seat, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the Guardian’s to shut him up. Malik went still as a statue when their lips first met, before groaning low in his throat and letting Altair explore.

When they finally broke apart again, Altair was grinning. “There, that’s better than you grousing at me, isn’t it?” he teased.

Malik’s expression hovered between irritation and something achingly tender that had Altair’s heart beating faster. Then, his expression cleared, and he smirked. “You shouldn’t play with me like this, sire.”

“I wasn’t aware I was playing, Malik.”

Malik ran his fingers down Altair’s cheek, a gesture that ended with his thumb pressing against the king’s lower lip. Altair parted them and let the digit slide inside his mouth, going so far as to suckle on it gently. Malik’s eyes grew hotter, and his smirk more predatory. “I like being in control, sire,” he warned.

“Really? I never would have figured that out on my own,” Altair replied with a small smirk of his own.

Malik leaned farther over the desk, until he could whisper in Altair’s ear, “Next time, sire, I will have all of you. Take all you can give me.” Malik’s tone held both threat and promise, and for a breathless moment, Altair was at a loss to understand the meaning of his words. And then in a flash, the implications hit him and he felt himself blush, starting at the nape his neck and ending at the tip of his ears.

“Oh… ohhh,” he breathed, unable to come up with anything more coherent to say.

“So you see, sire,” Malik continued, matter-of-fact. “Unless you want me to claim that tight little virgin ass of yours, you will stop teasing me in this way.”

No one had ever spoken that crudely to him before, not even Malik himself. He really shouldn’t like it as much as he did. Nonetheless, he found himself growing warm, his cock twitching. He licked lips that had gone dry. “Will it… will it hurt?” he murmured, wincing at hearing the tremor in his own voice. And yet… And yet he couldn’t remember being this aroused by anyone else before. Only Malik. 

Always Malik.

Malik seemed taken aback by the question. He hadn’t been expecting this. Did he think Altair would back down? Run away from him? He looked Malik straight in the eyes, refusing to look away in spite of his flaming cheeks.

Malik eventually sighed. “It might, at first, but I would make sure you enjoy yourself.”

Altair caught on his use of the conditional, even if it might have been unconscious on Malik’s part. Was Malik the one to back down now? Altair wouldn't let him do so. He wanted to know how it felt. He _wanted_ to be Malik’s in this most intimate of ways. “I trust you.”

Dumbfounded, Malik stared at him. “What are you saying, sire?”

“I want you to do it, is what I’m saying.”

Malik’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly.

“Or were you just trying to scare me away from you?”

A fleeting look of guilt crossed Malik’s expression, confirming Altair’s suspicion. 

“We shouldn’t. _I_ shouldn’t,” Malik muttered with a shake of his head.

“But do you want to?” _Do you want me?_

“More than is wise.” He swallowed again. “I must been insane.”

“Then we both are.”

Something needed to happen, Altair thought. He couldn’t bear the tension between them anymore. His skin felt over-sensitive, and his cock strained his breeches at the thought of Malik’s hands and mouth on him. Something needed to happen soon or he would combust on the spot.

In the end, a knock on the door broke their stalemate. Malik blinked and pulled back, and Altair sat back down behind the desk, all too aware of the erection tenting his breeches. He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

The door cracked open and the young servant girl, Maria, peeked inside the room. “Your majesty, I huh… can come back later if I am bothering you.”

“No, no. Come in.” 

Maria nodded, and pushed the door all the way open so she could walk in, carrying the bowl of dates Altair had asked for before Malik’s arrival, and a pitcher of water.

“No one but me touched them, just as you instructed, your majesty,” she said.

“Oh, good.” He glanced around the room in search of a surface free of scrolls, papers and other clutter. “Put them down here,” he finally said, gesturing vaguely at a corner of his desk.

“Yes, your majesty.” She bobbed a small curtsy.

Maria’s path brought her close to Malik, and the Guardian reached into the wooden bowl to pick a date. He popped it into his mouth as Altair cocked an eyebrow at him. Malik’s gesture had been offhand, but Altair had to wonder. Had Malik suddenly decided he was hungry for dates? That seemed doubtful, knowing him. More than likely, he was testing the food for poison.

Altair scowled. “Don’t do that,” he told Malik.

“Hmm?”

“You’re not my food tester, Malik.”

Malik answered nothing. He didn’t even shrug. He simply continued to chew on his date, before swallowing it. Altair sighed. “That was unnecessary,” he muttered.

Maria had been watching the exchange with big eyes and, after sidling past Malik, she hurriedly put the bowl and pitcher down on Altair’s desk. She bobbed her head again and turned on her heels to leave the room.

“Maria?”

Malik’s voice had Maria freeze on the spot, not daring to look at the Guardian. “Yes, sir?”

“Can you go to the bathing house and bring back some almond oil for his majesty?”

She gave Malik a slightly puzzled look, but stammered when he frowned at her, “Yes, sir. Immediately, sir.”

She ran more than she walked out, closing the door behind her and leaving Altair alone with Malik once more. Malik’s request to Maria hung between them, making it hard to breathe. Altair look down at the half-read report in front of him. Needing something to occupy his mind until Maria’s return, he took it and tried to continue reading. Malik didn’t comment on his choice to focus on work, but Altair could hear him moving across the room. He didn’t look up, although he was sorely tempted. He liked watching Malik move, the play of muscles under his clothes and the way he prowled a room like some graceful predator.

The soft footsteps stopped somewhere behind Altair, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a warm, callused hand curled around the back of his neck. “You appear tense, sire,” Malik remarked. He began to rub small circles on Altair’s skin with his thumb.

Altair bit his lower lip not to groan in bliss at the simple touch. He could feel the tension slowly ease from his shoulders and back, and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t know how much time passed before Maria returned, just that Malik’s hands on his neck, then shoulders, made him forget his worries for the time being. At the sound of her knock on the door, he sat straighter and cleared his throat. “Come in, Maria.”

Malik retreated a step, but Altair was still all too aware of his presence at his back. The door opened and Maria slid back inside, holding a glass flacon in both hands. “I have the oil, your majesty,” she said in an uncertain voice.

Malik stepped from behind the desk and held a hand out as he approached the servant girl. “I’ll take it from there. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a blush, and left the room once more without waiting to see if they needed anything else.

Altair stared at the vial now in Malik’s hands and felt a flush creep up his cheeks. He ran a hand down his face, trying to hide it from Malik, but he doubted he truly succeeded.

“Malik,” he started, then stopped. He wasn’t certain what he wanted to say.

“Finish your work, sire,” Malik replied. “This will wait.”

Altair wasn’t sure it could manage. He doubted he’d be able to focus on his work while his breeches still felt too tight and all he could think of was Malik’s threat-promise to take all of him. 

“After everything—” He shifted his weight, trying to relieve the pressure on his cock from his breeches. “You’re a cruel man, Malik.”

Altair visualized more than he saw Malik’s smirk. “You are the king now, sire. Your work comes first.”

“Oh, screw you,” he muttered under his breath, but not low enough for Malik not to hear.

“Actually, I am planning to screw _you_ … once your work for the day is done.”

Yup. They were both insane...


	7. Traitor - Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Altair begs... a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter. I was on vacation all of last week, with very little time to write. I hope to be finished with His Guardian by the end of this month, as November will be mostly taken by my NaNoWriMo project. In any case, hope you enjoy this new chapter :)

The candle sitting on Altair’s desk was running low, hissing and sputtering as it burned the last of its wax. Night had fallen some time ago, but Altair hadn’t paid the encroaching darkness much attention, focused as he was on taking care of the day’s tasks.

He put down the last of a series of reports about the kingdom’s finances and ran a hand through his hair. He was done for the night, finally. When he looked up from his desk, he spotted Malik standing at parade rest beside the door. All at once, Altair remembered Malik’s earlier words, and felt himself grow hot. He had managed to push the knowledge far from his thoughts while he worked, but it was impossible for him to do so now. 

Now that he’d had some time to reflect on the situation, Altair didn’t feel quite so cocky anymore. Malik was right. They really shouldn’t be doing this. Altair was the king. Malik was a slave. Altair shouldn’t want the Guardian the way he did, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Malik’s presence at his side had become as indispensable to him as breathing.

Feeling somewhat shaky, Altair gained his feet. This drew Malik’s attention, and the Guardian stretched and looked at Altair. Their eyes met and held, Malik’s eyes hotter than the desert sun. In the end, Altair was the first to wrench his gaze away, his heart pounding. Although Malik’s features were cast in shadows and his expression was hard to read, he followed when Altair made his way to his bed chamber.

Altair stopped on the threshold, hearing his Guardian also pause behind him. “Do you want me to leave, sire?” Malik asked after a second.

“No.” Altair shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of doubts, and turned to face the other man. “No, I don’t want you to go.” 

“As you wish, sire.” 

Malik took a step closer, bringing him less than a foot away. Altair sighed in irritation. Why did Malik always sound so formal? Especially in a moment like this. 

“What did I tell you before, Malik? Altair, my name is Altair, and I demand that you use it.” He sounded petulant, but didn’t care. If Malik and him were about to do this, Altair wanted to hear the Guardian call him by his given name. He didn’t want to be reminded of his status, or the fact that Malik was supposed to serve him.

“Sire,” Malik said, gently reproachful. “I cannot.”

“We are alone, Malik. No one else will hear you.” He closed the gap between them and cupped the back of Malik’s head to pull the man into a kiss. He brushed his lips against the Guardian’s, then pressed harder, his tongue darting out to taste and to explore Malik’s mouth.

Malik’s arms snaked around his back, bringing Altair’s body flush against his. Emboldened by this proof of Malik’s interest, Altair traced kisses along his jaw and went to nip at the lobe of his ear. Malik groaned and pushed Altair farther inside the bedchamber, closing the door behind them with a foot. 

When Malik unwrapped Altair’s sash and let it drop to the floor, Altair shuddered in growing arousal. When Malik opened Altair’s robes and slipped his hands under the fabric to reach his bare skin, Altair bit down on a moan. “Malik,” he said shakily.

“Yes… Altair?” 

The Guardian had used his name. Finally hearing the word on Malik’s lips sent another shiver down Altair’s spine. “Here, you see? It wasn’t so hard.” 

Malik snorted softly. “Cocky.”

“Yes,” Altair readily agreed.

He unbuckled Malik’s weapon belt and let it slip to the floor, before attacking the fastenings of his kamiz and breeches. His fingers shook both from nerves and anticipation, and he hoped Malik was too busy getting rid of Altair’s clothes to notice.

Soon enough, both men stood naked as the day they were born, and hands and mouths explored bare skin with desperate eagerness. Although they had tasted of each other only recently, it felt as though it was the very first time, at least for Altair. And he couldn’t get enough of it. 

After a few minutes, Altair found himself with his back pressed to the wall and Malik crowding close, devouring his mouth and grinding against his hardening cock. Altair clutched at Malik’s hair, both pulling him closer and pushing him down. He wanted… needed…

“If we’re going to do this at all,” Malik crooned against Altair’s ear, “it will be to the pace _I_ choose.”

Altair moaned wordlessly, and it took Malik grabbing his hands and pinning them over his head for him to realize the Guardian had him at his mercy. “And you call me cocky…” he groaned, breathless.

Altair felt more than saw Malik’s smirk. “Now, be good and stay put,” he said.

Being ordered around like this, especially by Malik, wasn’t something Altair was much used to, but he was far too aroused to complain about it. If anything, Malik’s rough tone only made him grow hotter, more desperate. He nodded, to show he understood the instruction, and once Malik was convinced Altair wouldn’t try to rush things along again, he started biting and mouthing down Altair’s neck and torso while his hand pumped up and down his length, unhurried. His movements were too slow to get Altair the release he craved, but enough to have him shudder in pent up need.

Malik, it would seem, knew exactly what his touch did to him, and appeared to enjoy every one of his gasp, moan, and mewl. Altair wanted nothing so much as to bring his arms down and push Malik lower, so that he could finally feel his lips around his cock, but he feared the Guardian would stop everything if he did so. And so he forced himself to obey the command and stay still, although it was its own kind of torture to do so.

“Malik, please,” he whined as the Guardian nibbled on his stomach but appeared uninclined to move any lower.

Malik nipped at the crease between his hip and thigh, making Altair yelp, before he answered. “Yes?”

“Allah dammit, Malik. You’re killing me.” He groaned. “Lower… please.”

His knees felt like butter left too long in the sun and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay upright. Malik’s deep laugh rumbled against Altair’s stomach, his hot breath fanning over his over-sensitive cock. “Time for us to move to the bed, I believe,” he said at last.

Altair was all too eager to lie down before he made a fool of himself by crumpling to the floor in a heap. As soon as he reached the bed, Malik pushed him down and climbed on top of him. The Guardian went to kiss him then, open-mouthed and achingly tender. Altair moaned into his mouth as he let Malik’s tongue explore all it wanted. Malik’s taste… he couldn’t ever get enough of it, even while he ached to have his mouth elsewhere.

He thrust his hips up to grind against the Guardian’s thigh, and Malik laughed again. He trailed his tongue along Altair’s neck and whispered, “So demanding.”

“Malik, I swear… if you don’t put your mouth around my cock in the next ten seconds, I am going to—” He didn’t know what he was going to do, but it wouldn’t be pretty. 

He flushed at how crudely he had just spoken, but Malik’s reaction made it all worth it. The Guardian growled, literally growled, and finally moved downward. He grabbed Altair’s hip with one hand to pin him in place, and use the other to wrap around his cock. His lips closed around the head and Altair cursed reverently. He brought his hands to Malik’s hair, raking his nails over his scalp, silently urging him on. Malik would not be hurried, however. He kept his slow, maddening pace, his mouth enveloping Altair’s cock in his wet warmth. 

Up, down. In, out. The rhythm soon had Altair twitching involuntarily, so aroused he couldn’t even warn Malik as he felt his release building ever closer. He crested, swallowing a scream, and his orgasm washed over him, leaving him trembling and panting in a bid to catch his breath.

Malik looked up, licking his lips, and smiled as he saw the state Altair was in.

“I’m sorry,” Altair whispered. “I should have—”

With a shake of his head, Malik interrupted him. “No apology needed, Si—Altair.” He traced a pattern up Altair’s stomach and circle a puckered nipple, his grin widening when Altair twitched and arched his back into the touch.

“Rest, catch your breath. I will be back in a moment.” With that, his warmth left Altair, and the Guardian stepped out of the room, still naked. Altair ran a shaky hand through his hair. Idly, he wondered how Malik had learned to be so… crafty with his mouth. Did he want to know? Did he even care? He decided it didn’t much matter.

Altair realized he’d closed his eyes and had started to drift off when a hand on his thigh jerked him awake. Malik sat down beside him, holding the almond oil in one hand. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

Altair smiled at him, languid. “Very relaxed,” he replied.

“Good. Now, turn over.”

Altair did as he was asked, and turned to his stomach, laying his head on his arms. Malik’s hand drifted down to cup his ass, his thumb coming dangerously close to his hole. 

Altair tensed slightly, but Malik simply continued with his massage until he relaxed again. He had closed his eyes, his breathing deepening, when he felt the first drip of oil on his backside, surprisingly cold. With a gasp, he attempted to get up on his elbows, but Malik put a hand on his nape to immobilize him. “You’re being more jumpy than a mouse,” he chuckled.

“Am not a mouse,” Altair mumbled, but stopped trying to fight Malik’s hold.

“Just keep breathing,” Malik advised, his fingers dipping into Altair’s crack, slathering the oil all over.

After a moment, one of Malik’s fingers breached the tight ring of muscles, and Altair grew utterly still. He wasn’t sure what to think of the new feeling. Although not painful at this stage, it felt foreign and uncomfortable. 

Malik waited, rubbing slow circle into the nape of Altair’s neck with his thumb. Only when Altair finally sighed, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, did he move again. He pushed his digit all the way in. Then, he added some more oil and pushed a second finger in, stretching the muscles further and making Altair hiss in pained surprise. 

“How do you feel?” Malik asked, stopping.

“I… I don’t know. It’s strange. I’m not sure how much I like—”

Malik bent down to kiss Altair’s shoulder, before he said, “Wait. It gets better.” He crooked his fingers and twisted them inside Altair. For a moment, nothing happened, and Altair was about to ask the Guardian to stop, but then—

“Dear Allah, Malik!” Altair’s strangled gasp was followed by a another wave of unexpected pleasure, leaving him shaking.

“Ah, there it is,” Malik said, sounding amused. 

“Do that again,” Altair pleaded when he could talk again. 

“My pleasure,” Malik all but purred, before brushing against the very same spot again. And again. 

Altair was growing hard once more, surprisingly so so soon after his release. He raised his hips off the bed, silently begging for more. He clutched at the bedspread, hiding his face into the mattress as he tried to muffle the sound of his own moans. He just couldn’t help himself, not even when Malik added a third finger and the pain and pressure intensified for a bit.

The grip on Altair’s nape released, and a few second later, Malik’s free hand wrapped around Altair’s cock, giving it a few lazy strokes. “You’re so hard already,” he remarked conversationally.

“Malik!” Altair groaned.

“Yes?”

Altair shuddered from head to toes as Malik both squeezed the base of his cock and scissored the fingers inside him. “Malik,” he repeated, more urgently. “Please...”

“What do you want, Altair? Tell me.”

In other circumstances, Altair would have cursed at Malik, but at this point, he would beg and plead if need be. He was all out of anything resembling pride, or even sanity. “Fuck me… please!” 

Malik pulled his fingers out, making Altair groan at the loss, and shifted his weight. A moment later, Altair felt more oil being dribbled down his backside, before something warm and quite a bit bigger pressed against his entrance. Slowly, resolutely, it pushed through the ring of muscles. Altair gasped and tensed when the crest of Malik’s cock first slid in, the pressure and pain quite a bit sharper than when it had been only fingers. 

Malik rubbed small circles into Altair’s lower back and hips, whispering in a somewhat strained voice, “Relax. Just breathe.” 

Altair did his best to comply as Malik started inching in, his length sliding farther in with each of his careful thrusts. If the pain subsided somewhat, the pressure did not. Altair had never felt so full in all of his life, and the sensation left him light-headed and shivering with arousal. 

Once he was seated to the balls, Malik paused again, long enough that Altair whined in protest. “Ready?” Malik asked.

Altair nodded a little desperately. Malik leaned forward and kissed the shell of Altair’s ear as he began to move, his movements at first slow and shallow, before picking up in speed and intensity. Altair turned his head, captured Malik’s lips and kissed him until the were both out of breath and panting. He reached between his legs and wrapped his fingers around his own cock, pumping his hand in time with Malik’s thrusts. 

It was all too much. Very soon, his balls felt about ready to explode, his coming orgasm threatening to engulf him whole. He shuddered and moaned Malik’s name like a prayer, before everything crashed around him. Malik’s rhythm grew erratic as well, his muscles contracting around Malik’s cock. With a groaned curse the Guardian grew rigid, grabbing Altair’s hips so tightly he would probably leave marks. 

Moments later, Altair slumped back on the bed and Malik’s weight settled over him. Both men were panting heavily, drenched in sweat. Altair could feel Malik’s cock growing soft, still inside him, and it was a strangely intimate sensation. Finally, Malik rolled off him to lie down beside him. Altair sighed, but didn’t move. He felt far too sated to do so. He could fall asleep like this, he thought, with the Guardian beside him, and feel totally at peace.

When, several minutes later, Malik made to leave the bed, Altair grabbed his wrist. “Stay,” he murmured.

Malik clearly hesitated. “I’m not sure I should.”

Altair was about to reply when a sound coming from his study made them both freeze. “You majesty!” came Rauf’s strained voice, then silence followed by some shuffling.

Rauf? It wasn’t like the captain to barge into his ruler’s study that way. Altair was aware of that, and so was Malik, if the sudden tension in his shoulder was anything to go by.

“Your majesty!” Rauf called again, uncertain. “I do not mean to bother you but the Guardian said he wanted to be appraised of new developments in our inquiry at once.”

“This better be important,” Altair muttered under his breath. He groaned as he sat up, wincing at the discomfort he now felt. Looking around, he grimaced. There were clothes strewn across half the room. The bed was a mess; _he_ was a mess.

This wouldn’t do.

“I am… undressed at the moment, Captain. Take a seat. I will be with you in a few minutes,” he finally said out loud, just as Malik started picking up his clothes from the floor.


	8. Arrest - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a traitor in the palace... he must be stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp... beginning of the end here. I should have 3 more chapters after this one.

Altair tried to hide a limp as he walked into his study after getting dressed and putting some order back to his hair. To Malik’s amusement and grudging sense of pride, his king’s skin was still flushed and his eyes somewhat unfocused from their earlier… activity.

He had done this. Malik had. Altair bore his mark now, on his skin and inside his body. _Allah be merciful_. He shouldn’t feel this possessive toward Altair, but he couldn’t help himself. 

With scarcely a wince, Altair sat at his desk, before finally addressing the uncomfortable-looking Captain Rauf. “I’ll hear your report now, Captain.”

Rauf cleared his throat, his gaze darting right and left nervously. For some reason, whatever information he had uncovered was making him sweat. “So?” Altair prodded with some irritation when he didn’t immediately get an answer. 

Altair’s grumpiness had Malik struggling to hide a smile. He coughed to hide his reaction. Rauf tensed, but his eyes stopped roaming the room and he took a deep breath. “Your majesty. As your Guardian ordered, I continued my investigation into the murders. I wanted to know if anyone had been seen in the hall leading to Commander Sofian’s rooms while we were interviewing him. It took me several hours, but I finally found a servant who agreed to speak to me.”

“And?” Malik cut in sharply. Rauf was dithering now, and he wanted to know why.

The Captain ran a hand in his hair. “Apart from Commander Sofian himself, there was only one person who was seen anywhere close to his office this morning. That person was dressed as one of the royal attendants, but the servant didn’t know of his identity.”

“You continued your inquiry into the matter, I presume,” Altair said, frowning.

“Yes, your majesty. Of course. It was that young servant, Maria, who was finally able to find the attendant’s name. She is… very adept at snooping, if I may say so.” 

“Ah, yes.” Altair nodded. “I found that out for myself.”

“The attendant’s identity,” Malik prodded Rauf with a scowl. “Out with it, Captain.”

Rauf’s expression soured, but he sighed and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s simply that I don’t like the conclusion I’m drawing. The attendant is one of Lord Rashid’s—Al Mualim’s—sworn men. He is known for being totally loyal to him. I made sure of this before I came to you with the information.”

“One of Al Mualim’s men?” Altair exclaimed, and he blanched just slightly.

This news didn’t surprise Malik as much as it did Altair. Few people would be able to forge the new king’s signature—he hadn’t been on the throne long enough to pen any official documents yet—but the old advisor had served as one of Altair’s tutors until recently. He’d had plenty of opportunities to sample Altair’s handwriting. The old man had also served King Umar for years as his closest advisor. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that he’d had access to the royal seal.

“I can’t believe Al Mualim would do something like this,” Altair muttered, but his denial was half-hearted at best. No one had ever accused the new king of being dense. Malik was quite certain Altair’s thoughts ran the same direction his did.

“It does fit, though, doesn’t it?” Malik said thoughtfully. “He would have had the opportunity to forge the order.”

Altair cursed under his breath. “Of all my father’s old advisors, I thought I could trust him.”

“Your majesty,” Rauf cut in. “I have no proof of any of this, other than the word of a servant. It might well be a mistake. Lord Rashid has served the throne faithfully for many years.” He gulped. “There might be another explanation.”

“Perhaps,” Altair agreed darkly. “Although I don’t see what it could be.” He looked at Malik then. “What do you think?”

“I think Captain Rauf is right, Sire. We need proof before we act. With only conjectures on our side, arresting Al Mualim would cause more problems than it would solve. The old man holds great influence in the Kingdom, and your power is untested.”

Altair grimaced. “The last thing I want right now is for the noble houses to take sides. Masyaf doesn’t need a civil war.”

“So we need a plan.” Malik didn’t have to think long before he said, “That attendant needs to be taken into custody and interrogated.”

Rauf nodded and smiled thinly. “I have thought of this already, Guardian, and have gone ahead and assigned one of my men to watch him. Covertly of course. I only have to say the word and he will be brought here for questioning.”

“Do so,” Altair ordered. “As for me, I think it is time I have a talk with Lord Rashid.”

“It is too early yet to confront him, Sire,” Malik protested.

Alair cocked an eyebrow at him, looking hurt. “Do you believe me to be that daft, Malik?”

“No, Sire. But you tend to be a little, uh… impulsive in your decisions.”

“Thank you for that vote of confidence,” Altair replied somewhat dryly. “I don’t plan on confronting him, actually. I plan on keeping him busy long enough for you to search his appartments.”

Malik swore, his irritation at Altair’s foolhardiness threatening to bubble over. If not for the fact Captain Rauf stood not five feet away, looking on their exchange curiously, he might just have tried to shake some sense into Altair. Or maybe pull him over his knee for a good spanking instead. “You can’t be serious, Sire,” he groaned.

“I’m quite serious, Malik. Right now, it’s still possible we’ll find proof of his involvement in his private chambers. But as soon as it becomes known that his man has been brought in for questioning, those proofs will be gone. The old fox isn’t stupid. He’ll destroy all that can incriminate him, if he hasn’t done so already. So we have to act now.” He smirked. “And I very much doubt he’ll try to murder me himself. That’s not his style at all.”

“I must protest, Sire.” Malik could barely keep his temper in check, and Altair was quite aware of that fact if his smirk was any indication. “While I agree Al Mualim’s chambers need to be searched, I see no reason for you to get involved.”

“And how do you suppose you’ll do that without me?” Altair asked, that smirk never leaving his lips. “At this hour, he will have retired for the night. He’ll need to be coaxed out if you are to gain access.” He pointed down to one of the documents he’d been reading earlier. “I had planned on asking for a more thorough briefing on this tomorrow, but it can as well be done tonight.” 

“Excuse me, your majesty, but won’t that raise Lord Rashid’s suspicion?” Rauf asked with a frown.

Altair shrugged. “I doubt it. It’s not the first time I’ll have bothered him late at night for one reason or another.” He stood up and gave Rauf a nod. “You will give your men the order to arrest the attendant at the next changing of the guard. This should give Malik and I long enough to carry out our part of the plan.”

Rauf saluted. “Your majesty,” he said. “I’ll take my leave now.”

Altair nodded, and Rauf walked out of the study, closing the door behind him. As soon as they were alone again, Malik rounded on Altair. “Sire!”

“Altair,” Altair corrected him.

Malik ground his teeth. “Sire,” he repeated firmly, “You can’t keep putting yourself in danger like this.” 

“I really don’t see what the danger is this time. I am simply going to discuss the palace’s financial situation with my father’s closest advisor. Nothing more.” His tone was just a little too innocent.

“If Al Mualim is truly plotting treason, you cannot underestimate him.”

“I’m not underestimating him. I simply don’t think he’ll try anything himself at this point. He is too crafty for such a rash act. He’s also an old man, and must know that I can easily overpower him in a physical fight.”

Malik frowned, but he knew he was running out of arguments. He recognized the glint of steel in Altair’s eyes. The king had made up his mind and no amount of arguing would change it. “Desperate men will resort to desperate measures,” he still growled.

“I agree, but I don’t think Al Mualim is quite that desperate yet. He doesn’t know his man has been spotted.” Altair smirked. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t accept any food or drink from the old man.”

Malik barely repressed the need to roll his eyes to the ceiling, and sighed. “Alright, sire. I suppose you win this argument.”

“I didn’t realize we were having an argument,” Altair replied, still smirking, but then his expression grew serious once more. “Believe me, I don’t particularly enjoy putting myself in danger, but this traitor must be stopped before he actually succeeds in assassinating me. Don’t you agree?”

Malik nodded grudgingly. 

“Good.” Altair reached beside his desk and pulled the thick silken cord there. Calling for an attendant.

A man knocked at the door a few minutes later, and came in when Altair gave him permission. The attendant, still dressed in full livery despite the late hour, bowed low. “Your majesty,” he said, waiting for his orders.

Altair smiled at him. “Please let Al Mualim know that I wish to speak with him in my study at once.”

If the attendant was surprised by the request, his expression didn’t betray it. He simply bowed again and left the room to attend to the errand, leaving Malik alone with Altair once more.

“Wait until I send you away,” Altair said after a moment. “Al Mualim would find it strange if you weren’t present when he arrives, but my dismissing you for the night while we discuss the report shouldn’t arouse his suspicion.”

“Hopefully,” Malik replied darkly.

Altair waved his implied concern aside. “I’ll keep him occupied for as long as I can. I trust you’ll have enough time to search his rooms.”

Malik’s nod was as stiff as his posture, but he kept his peace. He would do as he was asked. Not because his status as a slave meant he had to, but because he agreed with Altair. Al Muliam had to be stopped before he succeeded in committing regicide a second time. There was no doubt in Malik’s mind that the traitor was also behind king Umar’s death, even if the chances of him finding proof of it were slim to none. Too much time had passed. 

When he focused his attention on Altair, again, he saw the young king observing him, his expression hard to read. What was he thinking about, Malik wondered. Had he made the link between his father’s murder and their current suspicions? He had no time to ask, for at that moment a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Altair said calmly, and perked an eyebrow at Malik.

Without needing to be prompted any further, Malik moved to stand beside the door at parade rest, the way he usually stood guard while Altair worked. The same attendant as before opened the door and bowed to Altair. “Lord Rashid to see you, your majesty,” he announced, before moving aside to let the old man walk inside the room. 

“You wanted to see me, your majesty,” Al Mualim said with a frown. “It is late.”

“Yes, yes, I know, and I’m sorry,” Altair replied with a guileless smile. “I’m afraid time has been slipping through my fingers faster than I realize, these last few days. There is so much to learn, so much to do.”

This appeared to mollify Al Mualim somewhat, and he nodded. “I am always at your disposal if you need anything, your majesty.”

“I know, which is why I called you here. There is this financial report—” Altair stopped mid-sentence and frowned at Malik, as though he’d just remember the Guardian was there. “Malik, you can go now. We’ll likely be here for a while, and I won’t need your services.”

“Sire,” Malik looked from his king to Al Mualim as though considering the threat the old man represented. In truth, he hated leaving Altair to fend on his own, but recognized that the risk was indeed low. Too many people knew of Al Mualim’s presence in the king’s study.

“Malik,” Altair repeated, sounding irritated now.

Malik eventually sighed and bowed his head. “As you wish, Sire. I will be in my room.”

“Yes, yes.” Already, Altair had dismissed his presence, but Malik still formally bowed before he left. Once outside, he made sure no one was watching him before he hurried out of the royal quarters.


	9. Arrest - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head

Malik wasn’t certain what he was looking for. At first, he didn’t think that would be a problem, but after the first half hour of fruitless searching he became increasingly frustrated. There had to be something here to incriminate Al Mualim. He refused to believe they had the wrong man. Everything fit together too well.

But there was nothing. Not a single shred of evidence pointing to Al Mualim’s guilt. Allah dammit! The idea of disappointing Altair sat badly with Malik.

He entered the old man’s study once again, looking around slowly. He had been thorough, but he was a bodyguard, not an investigator. There was a chance he might have missed something the first time. The study contained only a desk and a set of shelves full of books and scrolls on one wall. Al Mualim, unlike Commander Sofian, liked his work space austere and uncluttered. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave many hiding spots.

For the second time since entering Al Mualim’s private chambers, Malik approached the simple wooden writing desk, with its carefully stacked documents and single ink pot. Careful not to disturb anything, he did a second search of the drawers. Inside, he found nothing more suspect than a few broken quills, just like the first time he’d gone through them.

Malik looked up as he heard someone moving in the corridor outside the study. He was about to dash for cover when the sound of footsteps moved away again.

Only a guard doing his rounds, he thought.

Still he couldn’t dally much longer. He’d already wasted too much time doing his search, and all of it in vain. He was about to close the last of the desk drawers when a detail caught his attention. Wasn’t the bottom right drawer slightly shallower than the other three? They should all be identical. To confirm his hunch, Malik opened the bottom left drawer, which should be mirroring the right one. He stood, looking at the right one, then the left then the right one again.

Yes, he was right. the design of the drawers hid it well, but the right bottom drawer was definitely about an inch shallower than the left one. A secret compartment? If so, Malik might finally be on the something. Using his fingers, he prodded the bottom and sides of the drawer, looking for anything—any protuberance, knot, hole, or anything else really—that could serve as an opening mechanism. Minutes crawled by as he continued his inspection with an ear cocked toward the corridor outside. Who knew how long Altair would be able to keep Al Mualim busy. Finally, his fingers brushed against a small indentation and when he pressed on it, he heard a soft “click” and the bottom of the drawer slid partly open to reveal a dark space underneath.

Inside, Malik found only one small round object, made out of wood and about the width of his fist. He had to bring it close to the window to figure out what it was. The piece of wood didn’t look like much, but the light of the full moon revealed that the underside of it had been carved by a masterful hand. The lines, curlicues and indentations revealed a design Malik had seen before. The royal seal. Or at least a very good copy of it, quite probably made using the original as a model. A more thorough inspection even revealed minute pieces of wax still clinging to the wood. The false seal had been used recently.

I have you now, Malik thought, triumphant.

They had their proof of Al Mualim’s involvement in the plot to assassinate Altair. Malik hesitated. He could bring the seal back to Altair and say where he had found it, confront Al Mualim while he was still in the king’s study. This, though, could easily be construed as a plot to unseat a very powerful and popular advisor of the old king. After all, everyone knew Malik was Altair’s man and his alone. Al Mualim, the old fox, could use this to claim a conspiracy against him, and at least some of the noble blood families would side with him. Altair wanted to avoid this at all cost.

In the end, he put the seal back where he found it and closed the secret compartment while making sure everything was in exactly the same spot as before he began his search. Finding evidence of Al Mualim’s treason in his own desk would hold more weight than a slave’s—even a Guardian’s—word.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor again, and stopped in front of the door. Malik froze for an instant, then slipped out of the study and into Al Mualim’s inner sanctum, his bedchamber. He climbed out the window at the exact moment the door to the study opened. Hanging by his fingers on the window’s narrow edge, he held his breath as the footsteps entered the bedchamber. 

Fortunately, the footsteps never came anywhere close to the window—he hadn’t been noticed—and he managed to climb down to the floor below and slip back inside. Once he’d assured himself that he was alone in the poorly lit storage room, he snuck out and hurried back to the king’s private quarters.

*****   
Altair paused in his pacing when the door to his study opened without a knock. He stared at the entrance, his left hand tensing in preparation of unsheathing the hidden blade, but he relaxed again when he spotted Malik. Altair sighed. “So? Close to the door and tell me everything,” he ordered to hide the dread he’d been feeling only moments before.

He’d been worried for Malik.

Al Mualim had refused to spend more than half an hour discussing the financial report, pretexting the late hour. Altair had been unable to prevent his departure, not without also alerting him of his and Malik’s suspicions.

Malik shut the door and leaned back against it, his expression hard to read. “So?” Altair repeated. “What took you so long? Did you find something?”

“I apologize for the delay, sire. I am a Guardian, not a spy, and searching for evidence isn’t one of my main talents.”

“But you found something, right?” 

Malik’s nod was short and sharp, and his smirk held a predatory edge. “I did. He is keeping a wooden replica of the royal seal in a hidden compartment in his desk drawer.”

Altair closed his eyes and let that information sink in for a moment. Al Mualim had betrayed him after all. He might have also betrayed his father. 

_Might?_

Who was Altair kidding? Chances were good Al Mualim was also behind the former king’s poisoning. “What did you do with the seal?” Altair finally asked.

“I left it where I found it, sire.”

Altair perked an eyebrow and Malik quickly explained. “I thought it best if it were found in the old man’s possession.”

“Ah… you’re right, of course.” Altair nodded. “You did well.”

“What now, sire?” Malik asked.

Altair made a face. “As soon as Rauf returns from arresting the attendant, I’ll have him gather his men.” Unlike the rest of the soldiers working inside the palace, he trusted Rauf’s men to be loyal to him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel the start of a headache. “Al Mualim needs to be taken into custody until this whole situation can be clarified. Who knows how many more are involved in this conspiracy.”

The shuffling of feet outside the door, and the whisper of conversation that followed it, had Altair nodding. “Ah, the changing of the guard. I believe we’ll get news of Rauf soon.”

Malik, as was his habit, took his position beside the door and both men waited in silence. It took another half hour before the sound of a knock broke the stillness in the room. “Come in,” Altair said at once, just as Malik opened the door with a hand on his falchion.

Captain Rauf strode inside, followed by two guards escorting a white-faced attendant. Altair gave the servant a curious look. So, this was Al Mualim’s man then. He tried to remember if he’d seen him around the palace before, but there were so many of them. He frankly couldn’t recall.

“Your majesty,” Captain Rauf said formally. 

“Captain.” Altair nodded back. He turned his attention back to the attendant, who shuddered under his gaze. Ah… no. Not his gaze. Under the threat present in Malik’s hard glare.

“I will have your name,” he told the attendant.

“Tamir, your majesty.”

“Do you know the price of treason, Tamir?”

The man blanched even more, if that was possible. “I didn’t do anything wrong, your majesty.”

“Really? If that’s the case, explain your presence in Commander Sofian’s office this morning.”

Tamir fell to his knees in front of Altair. Malik half-drew his falchion, but Altair shook his head to stop him. He doubted the attendant meant him harm at this point and he wanted to hear what the man had to say.

“Mercy, your majesty,” Tamir stuttered. “I swear I didn’t realize what was being asked of me.”

Altair sighed. “Alright, start from the beginning. If your information is worth it, I might be willing to be lenient.”

“Thank you. Thank you, your majesty.”

Under Malik’s distrustful glare, Tamir began to talk, explaining how he’d received the order to retrieved a note containing the royal seal from Commander Sofian’s office by his patron, Lord Rashid. “I didn’t know what the missive was about, I swear,” he said pleadingly. “I thought it had to do with affairs of the throne and I didn’t dare ask questions. I learned of the murders only later in the day.” He rubbed his hands together in what Altair recognized as fear. “I knew then… I knew I wouldn’t stay alive very long.”

“Oh?”

“I realized what I’d done. That I knew too much.” He gulped. “I’d become a liability. I knew my fate would be the same as those men in the dungeon.”

Altair nodded. “You’re right, of course. You are one dangling thread Al Mualim would have snipped.”

Tamir recoiled at Altair’s words, but he nodded, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the ground. “Yes, your majesty,” he eventually whispered. 

“Alright.” Altair looked at Captain Rauf. “Please escort Tamir to one of the cells and make sure he is well protected. Then assemble your men. It’s time.”

Rauf saluted. “Yes, your majesty. At once.”

“And remember. Discretion is essential. Al Mualim must not be made aware of this.”

“Of course.” He gestured to the two guards and all three men led Tamir out of the king’s study. 

After they left, Altair turned to Malik. “By dawn, it’ll be over.” He made a face that was part irritation, part sadness. “Why did it have to be Al Mualim? He used to be my tutor. I trusted him more than any of my father’s advisors.”

Malik inclined his head. “So did you father. Sometimes, darkness lurks in the heart of men, and there is no explanation for it other than that power corrupts them.”

“Do you think it’ll corrupt me too?” 

Malik smirked slightly. “I will make sure it does not happen, sire.”

Altair snorted at that, but also smiled. It was almost reassuring to know Malik would keep an eye on things. Slave or not, Altair knew he would keep to his word.

*****

With dawn still only a ghost of a promise on the horizon, Altair and Malik, followed by Captain Rauf and twelve of his men, made their way toward Al Mualim’s private rooms. He had strapped a sword to his side, even though he didn’t expect a fight. One never knew how a cornered opponent would react. He hoped the arrest would happen without a hitch, but they were prepared for the worst.

When they reached their destination, Rauf raised a hand and, without a word, his soldiers fanned across the hallway, blocking any escape path. He then nodded at Altair, and Altair knocked on the Al Mualim’s door.

And waited.

The door opened to reveal the old advisor on the other side. His expression mirrored surprise—or at least made a good show of it—at seeing the king standing on his doorstep. “Your Majesty? Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so, Lord Rashid,” Altair replied, refusing to use Rashid’s title of mentor. The old man was most probably a traitor and didn’t deserve it anymore.

“I… see,” Rashid said slowly. His eyes traveled from the king to Malik, then to Rauf and his soldiers.

“Lord Rashid Ad-Din Sinan, you are under arrest for suspected treason against the throne of Masyaf,” Captain Rauf announced when Altair gestured him forward. “I advise you to come peacefully.”

Rashid’s expression turned stormy. “Never.” He took two steps back from the door and Malik advanced, putting his foot in before the man could slam it in their face. Altair sighed. “I was afraid of this.” Turning to Rauf, he was about to order the captain and his men to enter Rashid’s room when he saw movement from the corner of his eye.   
The door was suddenly pushed back and armed men swarmed toward them. A trap! Malik, still standing in the doorway, was caught defending Altair and himself in this awkward position. He blocked the first attacker and then stepped into the room, possibly to have more space to maneuver. A booted foot—Malik’s? One of the attackers’?—slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Altair, Rauf, and his men high and dry in the corridor.

“Malik!” Altair cried out, then he swore out loud. “Rauf, get this door open!” He didn’t know how many men Rashid had with him, but he couldn’t leave Malik alone to fight them all. He couldn’t believe it. In spite of all their precautions, Rashid had somehow known they were coming. There was no way he could get away with attacking the king’s men; he had to know that. Desperate men, as Malik had said, resorted to desperate measures.

“Get Rashid alive if you can; I don’t care about the rest of them.” He wanted to scream. There was no way to know from the sounds of battle echoing inside who was winning.

_Hang in there Malik._

“Yes, your majesty.”

It took Rauf’s soldiers several minutes to break the lock and kick the door open again. In spite of Rauf’s objection, Altair was the first person to step inside and take in the scene. Several men lay dead or wounded on the floor and those still standing turned to face the new threat of Rauf’s soldiers. Behind his desk, Rashid smirked humorlessly at Altair and raised a hand holding a dagger toward his own chest. Rauf reached him before he could plunge it in his heart and slammed the man face down on the desk.

Rauf’s mouth moved, but Altair was not paying attention to him anymore. He had seen the figure kneeling on the ground in the middle of the room, his falchion fallen at his side, blood seeping through clenched fingers. His left arm hung useless, blood dripping down from a deep gash across his bicep.

“Malik!” Altair yelled as the Guardian swayed, then crumpled to the floor.

Altair rushed at Malik’s side and knelt down. The rest of the world receded somewhere at the back of his mind as he cradled the fallen Guardian unto his lap. There was so much blood. “Malik.”

“I’m here, Sire,” Malik whispered, his eyes glazed and his breathing shallow and pained. “They… took me by surprise. I failed you.”

“Don’t say that. There’s no need to speak right now. Just stay with me.”

Malik blinked slowly. “I’m… not going anywhere.”

Altair pressed on the gushing wound on Malik’s side, desperate to stanch the flow of blood, but he only managed to smear red all over his white ceremonial robes. “Malik, please,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“Am staying… right here.” Malik’s voice slurred so much Altair had to strain his ears to understand him. 

He cradled Malik closer to his chest, praying to Allah, to his dead ancestors, to anyone who could hear him, to save Malik’s life. “Stay with me, Malik.”

“Alt—” Malik’s eyes rolled back into his head and he grew slack in Altair’s arms.

“No... Malik, no!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This picture from Mrasayf was used for inspiration : http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/95002341613/aaand-the-happy-ending


	10. Arrest - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end folks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Comments, as always, are much appreciated :) I'll be taking a short break until the end of november 2014 to focus on NaNoWriMo, but this isn't the last you'll read of me ^_^

Pain was the first thing Malik became aware of. In his chest, in his left arm, in his head. There wasn’t a single inch of his body that didn’t hurt in some way. His eyelids, when he tried to open them, seemed to weigh a ton. 

Malik groaned weakly, struggling to turn over, and a hand pressed down on his right shoulder. “Don’t try to move,” soothed a voice he recognized.

Altair…

A sudden burst of panic made him scramble for a weapon, leaving him dizzy and panting. Altair… danger. His king was in danger. He—

The hand pressed harder on his shoulder. “Stop it,” Altair ordered. “Or you’ll reopen your wounds. I’m safe. We’re both safe. You did well; you protected me.”

He kept fighting Altair’s hold on his shoulder, until his king’s words finally breached through the haze in his mind. Malik stopped thrashing and eventually managed to crack his eyes open. Altair’s face loomed over him, his expression tired and worried. He smiled when Malik’s eyes met his. “Welcome back,” he said, voice husky. His eyes looked red-rimmed and sported deep black shadows. When was the last time Altair had slept for more than an hour or two?

How long had Malik been unconscious?

He remembered the attack that had almost cost him his life now, if somewhat blurrily. He had been cut off from the rest of them and attacked from behind. Normally, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but he’d been caught by surprise. That second of inattention had cost him dearly. Still he had managed to kill most of his assailants before they overpowered him.

He then remembered Altair pleading for him to stay with him, just before the darkness consumed him. He smiled wanly. “You see,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. “I didn’t go anywhere. Wouldn’t… think of leaving.”

Altair choked on a curse. “Idiot,” he muttered. 

“How long… have I been out?”

“A week.”

So long? Who had protected his king while he couldn’t? “I’m… sorry, Sire.”

“Sorry? You really are an idiot,” Altair bit out. “Despite the healer’s best efforts, your wounds became infected. You were delirious for days. You almost died!”

Malik attempted to move his left arm so he could take Altair’s hand in his, but found he could barely twitch his fingers. With a jolt, he recalled blocking a strike meant for his neck with his bare arm, the sword’s edge biting deeply into flesh, muscles and tendons. The fact he still had his arm at all could be considered a miracle. But of what use was he with a left arm he couldn’t move?

He should have died back there, he thought. It was a fate preferable to being a cripple, incapable of protecting the one person he cared for more than life itself.

He was getting agitated again, and Altair seemed to realize it. “Malik, stop that!” he snapped. “You’ve barely regained consciousness. Don’t try to move yet.”

Malik stopped, panting. He had managed to exhaust himself already, and unconsciousness was pulling at his thoughts. He fought the blackness to stay with Altair long enough to apologize for his ineptness. “You will need… to find a new Guardian. To replace me.”

“What? What are you talking about, Malik? Are you still delirious?”

Malik tried to answer, but this time the darkness would not be denied. Vaguely, he heard Altair swear at him, but he was already drifting away.

*****

The next time he woke, Malik was alone in the room. A room that wasn’t his. It was far too grand. With a jolt, he recognized Altair’s bed chamber. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” Altair walked into the room, wearing a simple kamiz and breeches, and holding a bowl of something steaming. He smiled at Malik. “That’s good. The doctor said you needed to start eating again, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

Malik blinked slowly. “Why am I lying in your bed?”

“Oh, that?” Was Malik imagining it, or was Altair blushing now? “It was easier to keep an eye on you here.” 

“It wasn’t necessary, sire.”

Altair snorted. “Of course it was.”

With a sigh, Malik closed his eyes again. “Not it wasn’t, sire,” he said again. “I failed you.”

The mattress dipped as Altair sat down beside him. The king sniffed in what Malik knew was irritation. “Will you stop that,” he snapped. “You didn’t fail. You were outnumbered fifteen to one and yet you still managed to incapacitate most of your opponents. No one could accuse you of failure.”

After a long silence, Malik asked, “What of Lord Rashid?”

“He has been taken into custody and is awaiting his trial for treason. The seal was found in his desk, just as expected, and Tamir the attendant has been quite talkative against his old master.” Altair sighed, sounding disgusted. “There has been some instability following his arrest, but Captain Rauf has been a great help in taking care of it. It appears that quite a few people had been promised lands and important positions at court in the event of my… unfortunate death. Allah dammit. This is not how I imagined spending my first week as king.”

“You are doing very well, sire,” Malik replied softly.

“Yes… I suppose I am.” 

The mattress creaked and the the next moment, Malik felt Altair press his forehead against his. He reopened his eyes. “Sire—” he began.

“Will you stop ‘siring’ me? I’m tired of asking you to call me Altair. As my Guardian, I order you to use my given name when we’re in private.”

Malik simply shook his head. Surely Altair didn’t realize the situation, or he wouldn’t be saying such a thing. “I can’t serve as your Guardian anymore.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?” Altair scowled at him. “Is this the fever speaking?” He went to press the back of his hand to Malik’s forehead. 

“Not nonsense.” Malik shook his head to dislodge Altair’s hand. “A cripple can’t be a Guardian,” he continued thinking out loud. “You will need to write to the temple. They will provide a new Guardian to take my place, sire.”

The slap took Malik completely by surprise and left his ears ringing. Altair glared down at him, his hand still raised as though he expected to hit Malik again. “Don’t you dare ever call yourself a cripple again,” he growled.

Malik glanced at his left arm, laying bandaged and useless at his side. He could barely feel his fingers. “That’s what I am now.”

“The blade cut deep, but the healer assured me you should be able to regain at least some mobility with time and practice.”

Malik made a face. “I can’t effectively carry out my duties with only one arm. Please, sire,” he pleaded. “It’s useless. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

This time, Malik saw the blow coming and snatched Altair’s wrist with his right hand before it could connect with his face. Altair smirked down at him. “Useless my ass,” he said. “You’re underestimating yourself, Malik. One arm or not, I do not wish for any other Guardian.”

“Sire,” Malik protested. 

“Enough, Malik. I refuse to relieve you of your duties. I expect to see you back by my side as soon as the healer clears you for duty.”

“Why?” Malik croaked after a long, heavy silence. He didn't understand. He couldn’t be of any use to his king anymore. Not in his present condition. 

“You can be so dense sometimes. Because I don’t want anyone else as my Guardian, isn’t that enough of a reason?”

Malik shook his head. Altair leaned forward again, this time to brush his lips again Malik’s. The fleeting, shy kiss was over before Malik could react, and then Altair was looking down at him once more. “Then perhaps this is a better explanation.”

Again, that hint of red high on the king’s cheekbones. Altair was blushing, but it didn’t stop him from grabbing the bowl he’d set down on the side table earlier and climb over him. He sat down across Malik’s hips. “Eat,” he said, nearly forcing his spoon between Malik’s lips.

Malik let Altair feed him one spoonful of the surprisingly tasty stew, before he tried to get his king to see reason again. “Sire, you must listen to me.”

His attempt ended abruptly when another spoonful of stew was pushed between his lips. 

“No,” Altair said very seriously. “You listen to me now. There will be no more talks of being useless or a cripple. You are neither of those things. I trust the healer when he says you’ll be able to use your left arm again, even if it never fully recovers. You’re strong, Malik. One good arm or not, I still trust you with my life. I refuse to replace you. Is that clear?”

Malik swallowed the food in his mouth before he answered. “Yes, sire.”

“Altair.”

Malik heaved a deep, defeated sigh. It seemed like he couldn’t refuse anymore. A smile tugged at his lips. “Yes… Altair.”


End file.
